Inscription Intended for an Old Thatched Church

FAR from the splendor of a costly fane,
My low roof canopies the humble train:
Deep in my vaults, divorc'd from human woes,
The life-worn weary villagers repose:
When at my altar kneels the hamlet Fair,
And to her God unveils her bosom'd care:
Or does the herdsman bend with grief distrest,
Kind comfort steals upon their lighten'd breast:
Here too Religion weaves, with viewless hand,
For spotless village hearts, the nuptial band,
And twines with many a charm the holy braid
That joins the lab'rer and the nut-brown maid.