Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/45

I go up to the ancient hills,
    Where chains may never be,
Where leap in joy the torrent rills,
    Where man may worship God, alone and free.

There shall an altar and a camp
    Impregnantly arise;
There shall be lit a quenchless lamp,
    To shine, unwavering, through the open skies.

And song shall midst the rocks be heard,
    And fearless prayer ascend;
While, thrilling to God's holy word,
    The mountain pines in adoration bend.

And there the burning heart no more
    Its deep thought shall suppress,
But the long buried truth shall pour
    Free currents thence, amidst the wilderness.