Three solemn parts together twine
In harmony’s mysterious line;
Three solemn aisles approach the shrine: 

Yet all are One—­together all,
In thoughts that awe but not appal,
Teach the adoring heart to fall.

Within these walls each fluttering guest
Is gently lured to one safe nest —
Without, ’tis moaning and unrest.

The busy world a thousand ways
Is hurrying by, nor ever stays
To catch a note of Thy dear praise.

Why tarries not her chariot wheel,
That o’er her with no vain appeal
One gust of heavenly song might steal?

Alas! for her Thy opening flowers
Unheeded breathe to summer showers,
Unheard the music of Thy bowers.

What echoes from the sacred dome
The selfish spirit may o’ercome
That will not hear of love or home!

The heart that scorned a father’s care,
How can it rise in filial prayer? 
How an all-seeing Guardian bear?

Or how shall envious brethren own
A Brother on the eternal throne,
Their Father’s joy, their hops alone?

How shall Thy Spirit’s gracious wile
The sullen brow of gloom beguile,
That frowns on sweet Affection’s smile?

Eternal One, Almighty Trine! 
(Since Thou art ours, and we are Thine,)
By all Thy love did once resign,

By all the grace Thy heavens still hide,
We pray Thee, keep us at Thy side,
Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide!

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY

So Joshua smote all the country, . . . and all their kings; he left none remaining.  Joshua x. 40.

Where is the land with milk and honey flowing,
   The promise of our God, our fancy’s theme? 
Here over shattered walls dank weeds are growing,
   And blood and fire have run in mingled stream;
      Like oaks and cedars all around
      The giant corses strew the ground,
And haughty Jericho’s cloud-piercing wall
Lies where it sank at Joshua’s trumpet call.

These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even,
   For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades,
Soft slumbers in the open eye of Heaven,
   And all the listless joy of summer shades. 
      We in the midst of ruins live,
      Which every hour dread warning give,
Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide
The broken arches of old Canaan’s pride.

Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting,
   The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul,
Now Heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting,
   And all the Godhead joins to make us whole. 
      The triple crown of mercy now
      Is ready for the suppliant’s brow,
By the Almighty Three for ever planned,
And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus’ hand.