THOSE dark and silent aisles are fill'd with night,
There breathes no murmur, and there shines no light;
The graves beneath the pavement yield their gloom,
"Till the cathedral seems one mighty tomb.
The Cross invisible-the words unseen
That tell where Faith and Hope in death have been.
But day is breaking, and a rosy smile
Colours the depths of each sepulchral aisle.
The orient windows kindle with the morn,
And 'mid the darkness are their rainbows born;
Each ray that brightens, and each hue that falls,
Attest some sacred sign upon the walls ;-
Some sculptured saints' pale head-some graven line
Of promise, precept, or belief divine :
Then sounds arise, the echoes bear along
Through the resounding aisles the choral song.
The billowy music of the organ sweeps,
Like the vast anthem of uplifted deeps;
The bells ring forth-the long dark night is done,
The sunshine of the sabbath is begun.
What is that temple but a type sublime!
Such was the moral night of ancient time;
Cold and obscure, in vain the king and sage
Gave law and learning to the darkened age.
There was no present faith, no future hope,
Earth bounded then the earth-drawn horoscope;
Till to the east there came the promised star-
Till rose the Sun of Righteousness afar-
Till, on a world redeem'd, the Saviour shone,
Earth for his footstool-Heaven for his throne.