Our New Church

As yet no organ rolls — no prayer-bell rings —
But in and out the darting swallows pass;
While distant hands prepare the pictured glass,
Through vacant quatrefoils the hodman sings;
But, when the House is built, the Table spread,
Enter, O! broken heart! and tell thy sin!
Prime guest of Jesus, enter! and begin
The Church's mystic life — one Cup, one Bread;
As to these stone-heap'd graves the spring shall give,
Once more, their common bond of daisies sweet,
So may all crush'd and barren souls revive,
In one white field of common graces meet,
And bells, and organ, and glad hymns, combine
To draw them lovingly to rites divine!