[From “The Sleeping Bard,” by Elis Wynn.]

O MAN, upon this building gaze,
The mansion of the human race,
The world terrestrial see!
Its Architect’s the King on high,
Who ne’er was born and ne’er will die—
The blest Divinity.
The world, its wall, its starlights all,
Its stores, where’er they lie,
Its wondrous brute variety,
Its reptiles, fish, and birds that fly,
And cannot number’d be,
The God above, to show His love,
Did give, O man, to thee.
For man, for man, whom He did plan,
God caus’d arise
This edifice,
Equal to heaven in all but size,
Beneath the sun so fair;
Then it He view’d, and that ’twas good
For man, He was aware.

Man only sought to know at first
Evil, and of the thing accursed
Obtain a sample small.
The sample grew a giantess,
’Tis easy from her size to guess
The whole her prey will fall.
Cellar and turret high,
Through hell’s dark treachery,
Now reeling, rocking, terribly,
In swooning pangs appear;
The orchards round, are only found
Vile sedge and weeds to bear;
The roof gives way, more, more each day,
The walls too, spite
Of all their might,
Have frightful cracks down all their height,
Which coming ruin show;
The dragons tell, that danger fell,
Now lurks the house below.
O man! this building fair and proud,
From its foundation to the cloud,
Is all in dangerous plight;
Beneath thee quakes and shakes the ground;
’Tis all, e’en down to hell’s profound,
A bog that scares the sight.
The sin man wrought, the deluge brought,
And without fail
A fiery gale,
Before which everything shall quail,
His deeds shall waken now;
Worse evermore, till all is o’er,
Thy case, O world, shall grow.
There’s one place free yet, man for thee,
Where mercies reign;
A place to which thou may’st attain.
Seek there a residence to gain
Lest thou in caverns howl;
For save thou there shalt quick repair,
Woe to thy wretched soul!

Towards yon building turn your face!
Too strong by far is yonder place
To lose the victory.
’Tis better than the reeling world;
For all the ills by hell up-hurl’d
It has a remedy.
Sublime it braves the wildest waves;
It is a refuge place
Impregnable to Belial’s race,
With stones, emitting vivid rays,
Above its stately porch;
Itself, and those therein, compose
The universal Church.
Though slaves of sin we long have been,
With faith sincere
We shall win pardon there;
Then in let’s press, O brethren dear,
And claim our dignity!
By doing so, we saints below
And saints on high shall be.