Some there are Who hold it meet to linger now at home, And some o’er fields and the wide hills to roam, And worship in the temple of the air! For me, not heedless of the lone address, Nor slack to meet my Maker on the height, By wood, or living stream; yet not the less Seek I His presence in each social rite Of His own temple: that He deigns to bless, There still He dwells, and that is His delight. _Bishop Mant._ I love to hear the sound of holy bell, And peaceful men, their praises lift to Heaven. _Joanna Baillie._ Clad in a robe of pure and spotless white, The youthful bride, with timid steps, comes forth To greet the hand to which she plights her troth, Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight. The snowy veil which circles her around, Shades the sweet face from every gazer’s eye, And thus enwrapt, she passes calmly by-- Nor casts a look, but on the unconscious ground. So should the _Church_, the bride elect of Heaven,-- Remembering whom she goeth forth to meet, And with a truth that cannot brook deceit, Holding the faith which unto her is given-- Pass through this world, which claims her for a while, Nor cast about her longing look nor smile. _Mrs. Neal._ Thy best type, Desire Of the sad heart,--the Heaven-ascending spire! _Sir E. B. Lytton._ To Thee the _churches_ here rejoice, The solemn organs aid the voice; To sacred roofs the sound we raise, The sacred roofs re-sound Thy praise; And while our notes in one agree, Oh! bless the _church_ that sings to Thee! _Parnell._ The _Church_ of Christ, the school of grace, The Spirit teaching by the Word; In these our Saviour’s steps we trace, By this His living voice is heard. _J. Montgomery._ So shall her holy bounds increase, With walls of praise and gates of peace; So shall the Vine which martyr tears And blood sustained, in other years, With fresher life be clothed upon; And to the world in beauty show Like the rose-plant of Jericho, And glorious as Lebanon. _J. G. Whittier._ O, prayer is good when many pour Their voices in one solemn tone; Conning their sacred lessons o’er, Or yielding thanks for mercies shown. ’Tis good to see the quiet train Forget their worldly joy and care, While loud response, and choral strain, Re-echo in the House of Prayer. _Eliza Cook._