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THESE temples, our places of worship, these houses we almost adore And aim to fit up as a palace, with fame, wealth and beauty in store, On a summit commanding and healthful, where fruitage from over the sea And at home, shall endow us with treasures, the temples of you and of me. Our yachts for our missions of pleasure, we build in an under- sea way And oft of a frailty construction, and shorten the term of life's day, For the sea, knows no primary classes, but moves with its surges along, Nor gives ear to distress or to sadness, nor hearkens to joy or song. We look at a mountain commanding, its peaks bordering on the sublime, But our gaze is on the external; we see not the essence of time; The gold stored away in the mountain, the secrets its temples contain, Are concealed from the wayfaring pilgrims, and they trudge on in sorrow and pain. The ocean in grandeur so boundless, that touches all climes in its course, With majesty carries the billows, crowned with white, in their volley of force; But the mysteries 'neath the crowned temples, are as deep as the depth of the sea And what is contained 'neath the surface, God alone in his wisdom may see. |