The matron be a girl once more, The bearded man a boy, And we, in heaven's eternal June, Be glad for earthly joy! 1876. HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF THOMAS STARR KING'S HOUSE OF WORSHIP, 1864. The poetic and patriotic preacher, who had won fame in the East, went to California in 1860 and became a power on the Pacific coast. It was not long after the opening of the house of worship built for him that he died. Amidst these glorious works of Thine, The solemn minarets of the pine, And awful Shasta's icy shrine,-- Where swell Thy hymns from wave and gale, And organ-thunders never fail, Behind the cataract's silver veil, Our puny walls to Thee we raise, Our poor reed-music sounds Thy praise: Forgive, O Lord, our childish ways! For, kneeling on these altar-stairs, We urge Thee not with selfish prayers, Nor murmur at our daily cares. Before Thee, in an evil day, Our country's bleeding heart we lay, And dare not ask Thy hand to stay; But, through the war-cloud, pray to Thee For union, but a union free, With peace that comes of purity! That Thou wilt bare Thy arm to, save And, smiting through this Red Sea wave, Make broad a pathway for the slave! For us, confessing all our need, We trust nor rite nor word nor deed, Nor yet the broken staff of creed. Assured alone that Thou art good To each, as to the multitude, Eternal Love and Fatherhood,-- Weak, sinful, blind, to Thee we kneel, Stretch dumbly forth our hands, and feel Our weakness is our strong appeal. So, by these Western gates of Even We wait to see with Thy forgiven The opening Golden Gate of Heaven! Suffice it now. In time to be Shall holier altars rise to Thee,-- Thy Church our broad humanity White flowers of love its walls shall climb, Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime, Its days shall all be holy time. A sweeter song shall then be heard,-- The music of the world's accord Confessing Christ, the Inward Word! That song shall swell from shore to shore, One hope, one faith, one love, restore The seamless robe that Jesus wore. HYMN FOR THE HOUSE OF WORSHIP AT GEORGETOWN, ERECTED IN MEMORY OF A MOTHER. The giver of the house was the late George Peabody, of London. Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all In temples which thy children raise; Our work to thine is mean and small, And brief to thy eternal days. Forgive the weakness and the pride, If marred thereby our gift may be, For love, at least, has sanctified The altar that we rear to thee. The heart and not the hand has wrought From sunken base to tower above The image of a tender thought, The memory of a deathless love!