There is a stream whose gentle flow
      Supplies the City of our God;—
Life, love and joy still gliding through
      And watering our divine abode.

That Sacred Stream, thine holy word
      That all our raging fear controls;
Sweet peace thy promises afford,
      And give new strength to fainting souls.

Where ancient forests round us spread,
      Where bends the cataracts ocean-fall,
On the lone mountains silent head,
      There are thy temples, God of all!

Beneath the dark blue, midnight arch,
      Whence myriad suns pour down their rays,
Where planets trace their ceaseless march,
      Father! we worship as we gaze.

The tombs thine altars are;—for there—
      When earthly loves and hopes have fled,—
To thee ascends the spirit’s prayer,
      Thou God of the immortal dead!

All space is holy: for all space
      Is filled by thee; —but human thought
Burns clearer in some chosen place,
      Where thy own words of love are taught.

Here be they taught; and may we know
      That faith thy servants knew of old,
Which onward bears through weal or woe,
      Till death the gates of heaven unfold.

Nor we alone; may those, whose brow
      Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where we do now,
      And raise to thee still holier prayers.

And will the great eternal god
On earth establish his abode
And will he from his radiant throne
Avow our temples as his own?
These walls we to thy honor raise,
Long may they echo to thy praise;
And thou descending, fill the place
With choicest tokens of thy grace.
Here let the great Redeemer reign
With all the glories of his train.
Whilst power divine his word attends,
To conquer foes, and cheer his friends.

Great king of glory com
And with thy favor crown
This temple as they dome,
This people as thy own.