Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/32

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Our Feet Shall Stand Within Thy Gates.
Where is He? Ask the storm of fire That bursts from Etna's womb;And ask the glowing lava flood That makes the lands a tomb.
Where is He? Ask the Maelstrom's whirl, Shivering tall pines like glass;Ask the great oak, the graceful flower, Or simplest blade of grass.
Where is He? Ask the Behemoth, Who drinketh rivers dry;The' ocean king Leviathan, Or scarce seen atom fly.
Where is He? Ask the awful calm On mountain-tops that rests;And bounding, thundering avalanche, Rent from their rugged crests.
Ask the wide-wasting hurricane, Careering in its might;The thunder crash, the lightning blaze, Earth all convulsed with fight.
Where is He? Ask the crystal isles On Arctic seas that sail;Or ask from lands of balm and spice, The perfume-breathing gale.
Where on the universe is found, That presence-favoured spot?—All, all proclaim His dwelling-place! But say, where is He not?
"Our Feet Shall Stand Within Thy Gates."
Open now Thy gates of beauty, Zion, let me enter there,Where my soul in joyful duty Waits for Him who answers pray'r;Oh, how blessed is this place,Bill'd with solace, light, and grace!
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