The Minster

DIM thro' the sculptured aisles the sunbeam falls More like a dream Of some imagined beam, Than actual daylight over mortal walls. A strain of music like the rushing wind, But deep and sweet As when the waters meet In one mysterious harmony combined. So swells the mighty organ, rich and full, As if it were the soul Which raised the glorious whole Of that fair building, vast and wonderful. Doth not the spirit feel its influence, All vain and feverish care, All thoughts that worldly are, Strife, tumult, mirth, and fear are vanished hence. The world is put aside, within the heart Those hopes arise Thrice sacred mysteries, In which our earthly nature has no part. Oh, Christian Fane, the soul expands in thee, Thine altar and thy tomb Speak of the hope and doom Which leads and cheers man to eternity.