The Chapter-house: Episcopacy I

Mysterious harp of heaven-born harmony !
Touch'd by th' all-hallowing Spirit from above,
Thou fill'st the Church, else dead, with duteous love,
Obedience, such as holds the hosts on high,
And pure heaven-soothing order. Mortal eye
Beholds not, nor can mortal hearing prove
The musical soul which on thy chords doth move.
Tempering to holiest union ; but the sky
May catch the echo of the unearthly sound,
For Christ Himself, and His appointed few,
Moulded the frame, and in the silvery bound
Set all the glowing wires. Then potent grew
(Like that pale starry lyre 'twixt sea and cloud
Seen fitfully in Heaven when winds are loud)
The treasury of sweet sounds : deep aisle and fane
Prolong, from age to age, the harmonious strain.