Poems (Proctor)/Yosemite
YOSEMITE.
Most glorious Temple! open flung
Are all thy sculptured doors;
Thy mellow chimes are hourly rung,
Thy Jubilates ceaseless-sung,
And o'er thy grassy floors
Reverent I walk, and let my prayers
Waft heavenward with the morning airs.
Are all thy sculptured doors;
Thy mellow chimes are hourly rung,
Thy Jubilates ceaseless-sung,
And o'er thy grassy floors
Reverent I walk, and let my prayers
Waft heavenward with the morning airs.
Thy choirs are streams that, thundering, leap
The mountain barriers down;
The winds that wail by gorge and steep;
The brooks through sunny meads that sweep
Or foam where cañons frown;
And crags, and groves by crystal falls,
Thy altars and confessionals.
The mountain barriers down;
The winds that wail by gorge and steep;
The brooks through sunny meads that sweep
Or foam where cañons frown;
And crags, and groves by crystal falls,
Thy altars and confessionals.
Perpetual masses here intone;
Uncounted censers swing;
A psalm on every breeze is blown;
The echoing peaks from throne to throne
Greet the indwelling King;—
The Lord, the Lord is everywhere,
And seraph-tongued are earth and air!
Uncounted censers swing;
A psalm on every breeze is blown;
The echoing peaks from throne to throne
Greet the indwelling King;—
The Lord, the Lord is everywhere,
And seraph-tongued are earth and air!