  See yonder, on Pomona's isle— Where winter storms delight to roam; But beaming now with summer's smile— The Sainted Martyr's sacred dome! Conspicuous o'er the deep afar It sheds a soft and saving ray, A landmark sure, a leading star, To guide the wanderer on his way. It tells the seaman how to steer Through swelling seas his labouring bark It helps the mourner's heart to cheer, And speeds him to his heavenly mark. With joy of old this northern sky Saw holy men the fabric found, To lift the Christian Cross on high, And spread the Healer's influence round. By beauty's power they sought to raise Rude eyes and ruder hearts to Heaven: They sought to speak their Maker's praise With all the skill His grace had given. And now, where passions dark and wild Were foster'd once at Odin's shrine, A people peaceful, just, and mild, Live happy in that light divine. Preserved through many a stormy age, Let pious zeal the relic guard: Nor Time with slow insidious rage Destroy what fiercer foes have spared. |
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