1.The groves were God’s first temples.Ere man learnedTo hew the shaft，and lay the architrave ，And spread the roof above them；ere he framed The lofty vault，to gather and roll backThe sound of anthems，-in the darkling wood：Amid the cool and silence，he knelt down，And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanksAnd supplication.For his simple heartMight not resist the sacred influences Which from the stilly twilight of the place，And from the grey old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs，and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at onceAll their green tops，stole over him，and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless powerAnd inaccessiblemajesty.
2.Ah，why Should we，in the world‘s riper years，neglectGod’s ancient sanctuaries，and adoreOnly among the crowd，and under roofsThat our frail hands have raised？Let me，at least，Here，in the shadow of this aged wood，Offer one hymn-thrice happy if it find Acceptance in His ear.
3.Father，Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns，ThouDidst weave this verdant roof；Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth，and forthwith roseAll these fair ranks of trees.They in Thy sun Budded，and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze，And shot toward heaven.The century-living crow，Whose birth was in their tops，grew old and died Among their branches，till at last they stood，As now they stand，massy and tall and dark-Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communionwith his Maker.
4.These dim vaults，These winding aisles，of human pomp or prideReport not；no fantasticcarvings showThe boast of our vain race to change the formOf Thy fair works.But Thou art here-Thou fill‘st The solitude：Thou art in the soft windsThat run along the summit of these trees In music；Thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the placeComes，scarcely felt；the barky trunks，the ground，The fresh moist ground，are all instinct with Thee.
5.Here is continual worship；Nature here，In the tranquillity that Thou dost love，Enjoys Thy presence.Noiselessly around，From perch to perch，the solitary birdPasses；and yon clear spring，that midst its herbs Wells softly forth，and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest，tells no taleOf all the good it does.Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness，in these shades，Of Thy perfections；grandeur，strength，and grace Are here to speak of Thee.
6.This mighty oak，By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated-not a princ E’er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him.Nestled at his root Is beauty such as blooms not in the glareOf the broad sun.That delicate forest flower，With scented breath and look so like a smile，Seems，as it issues from the shapeless mould，An emanationof the indwelling Life，A visible token of the upholding Love，That are the soul of this great universe.
7.My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes onIn silence round me-the perpetual work Of Thy creation，finished，yet renewed For ever.Written on Thy works I read The lesson of Thy own eternity.
Lo！all grow old and die；but see again How on the faltering footsteps of decayYouth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth，In all its beautiful forms.These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them.Oh，there is not lost One of earth‘s charm；upon her bosom yet，After the flight of untold centuries，The freshness of her far beginning lies，And yet shall lie.Life mocks the idle hateOf his arch-enemy，Death-yea，seats himself Upon the tyrant’s throne，the sepulchre，And of the triumphs of his ghastly foeMakes his own nourishment.For he came forth From Thine own bosom，and shall have no end.
