Though wandering in a stranger-land,
Though on the waste no altar stand,
Take comfort! thou art not alone,
While Faith hath marked thee for her own.
Wouldst thou a temple? look above,—
The heavens stretch over all in love;
A book? for thine evangel scan
The wondrous history of man.
And though no organ-peal be heard,
In harmony the winds are stirred;
And there the morning stars upraise
Their ancient songs of deathless praise.