Poems (Proctor)/Yosemite

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YOSEMITE.
Most glorious Temple! open flung Are all thy sculptured doors;Thy mellow chimes are hourly rung,Thy Jubilates ceaseless-sung, And o'er thy grassy floorsReverent I walk, and let my prayersWaft heavenward with the morning airs.
Thy choirs are streams that, thundering, leap The mountain barriers down;The winds that wail by gorge and steep;The brooks through sunny meads that sweep Or foam where cañons frown;And crags, and groves by crystal falls,Thy altars and confessionals.
Perpetual masses here intone; Uncounted censers swing;A psalm on every breeze is blown;The echoing peaks from throne to throne Greet the indwelling King;—The Lord, the Lord is everywhere,And seraph-tongued are earth and air!
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