On the Consecration of a Small Chapel: The Same Subject Continued

And yet I deem we rightly may rejoice
When the chief shepherd of the many flocks,
That wait the high call of his pastoral voice
On sunny lawns or yellow pastures choice,
Or crop the turf beneath the sheltering rocks,
Comes to unite this lone and sever'd fold,
That feed so gently on their native flowers,
With the blest sheep that bled in days of old.
Oh ! should we not be thankful to behold
Our shepherd chief in such a fold as ours ?
Now may the Sabbath utterance of the dell,
With all the churches, make a mighty one.
And with the minster organ's gorgeous swell
The simple psalm combine in unison.