Plymouth Dedication Hymn

The winds and waves were roaring;
The Pilgrims met for prayer;
And here, their God adoring,
They stood, in open air.
When breaking day they greeted,
And when its close was calm,
The leafless woods repeated
The music of their psalm.
Not thus, O God, to praise thee,
Do we, their children, throng;
The temple's arch we raise thee
Gives back our choral song.
Yet, on the winds that bore thee
Their worship and their prayers,
May ours come up before thee
From hearts as true as theirs!
What have we, Lord, to bind us
To this, the Pilgrims' shore! —
Their hill of graves behind us,
Their watery way before,
The wintry surge, that dashes
Against the rocks they trod,
Their memory, and their ashes,—
Be thou their guard, O God!
We would not, Holy Father,
Forsake this hallow'd spot,
Till on that shore we gather
Where graves and griefs are not;
The shore where true devotion
Shall rear no pillar'd shrine,
And see no other ocean
Than that of love divine.