FIRST CHURCH AT JAMESTOWN, VIRGINIA.
Roll on, proud River, toward the waiting main,
And glow, gay shores, in summer's fostering smile;
Your blended beauties strive to lure in vain
The traveller's eye from yon deserted pile.
For there, in solitary state it stands,
While drooping foliage robes its mouldering frame,
The earliest temple reared by Christian hands
To teach a pagan realm Jehovah's name.
Hail, ancient fane! where first was heard to flow
That hallowed praise which heavenly choirs repeat,
While the stern savage staid his lifted bow,
From echo's voice to learn the cadence sweet.
Here, her frail babe, the matron-exile brought,
Here, the glad lover led his trusting bride,
And in thy solemn ritual forgot
The far cathedral, once their childhood's pride.
