CHAMOUNIX.
Within Thy holy temple have I strayed
E’en as a weary child, who from the heat
And noonday glare hath timid refuge sought
In some cathedral’s vast and shadowy aisle,
And trembling, awestruck, croucheth in his rags
Where high upreared a mighty pillar stands.
Mine eyes I lift unto the hills, from whence
Cometh my help. The murmuring firs stretch forth
Their myriad tiny crosses o’er my head;
Deep rolls the organ peal of thunder down
The echoing vale, while clouds of incense float
Around the great white altar set on high.
So lift my heart, O God, and purify
My thought, that when I walk once more
Amid the busy, anxious, struggling throng,
One cup of water from these springs of life,
One ray of sunlight from these golden days,
One jewel from the mountain’s spotless brow,
As tokens of Thy beauty, I may bear
To little ones who toil, and long for rest.