15
SONNET.
O world of spirits! O glorious world of mind!
Where down the stream of time high thoughts have burned,
And steps of heroes, sages, martyrs turned,
And their great deeds and lofty dreams enshrined.
If, in that temple pure, severe, refined,
Your labours a religious altar made,
Gathering all lands, all ages in its shade,
Till even through heathen glooms that far light shined,
The foot of one weak, ignorant, unknown,
May trembling enter, take your worshipper,
Who, with a humble hope and reverent fear,
Would lay a pilgrim's offering at your throne;
A heart that thrills with admiration deep,
And eyes that holy tears ye cause to weep.
Where down the stream of time high thoughts have burned,
And steps of heroes, sages, martyrs turned,
And their great deeds and lofty dreams enshrined.
If, in that temple pure, severe, refined,
Your labours a religious altar made,
Gathering all lands, all ages in its shade,
Till even through heathen glooms that far light shined,
The foot of one weak, ignorant, unknown,
May trembling enter, take your worshipper,
Who, with a humble hope and reverent fear,
Would lay a pilgrim's offering at your throne;
A heart that thrills with admiration deep,
And eyes that holy tears ye cause to weep.
