I.
God of the holy, pure, and just,
How are thy courts dishonored now,
Thy altars trampled to the dust,
Where holy men were wont to bow,
And praise was heard and thanks were given,
And supplications rose to heaven!
II.
Hushed is the voice of warning there:
The swelling song the spiritual hymn,
The morning and the evening prayer
That rose above the arches dim.
And sacrilegious ruin smiles
Amid the desolated aisles.
III.
Rude hands have marr’d the hallowed walls,
Where loud Hosannaha oft have rung,
And sons of Belial crowd the halls,
And work those holy things among:
And fires of death are burning on
The fragments of thine altar stone.
IV.
There man shall hear no more again
The voices of thanksgiving rise,
That “house is made the robber’s den,”
These courts “a place of merchandise;”
And vile blasphemers gather where
The holy man once bent in prayer.
V.
The losel song—the scoff and jeer
Shall rise with sounds of drunken strife,
And bitter curses greet the ear
Where once were heard the words of life,
And praise was given from heart and lip,
By men in holy fellowship.
VI.
And where the child was taught to go
To taste the streams of mercy flowing;
Will pour a tide of death and wo
More blasting than the Siroc’s blowing,
And burning as the lava tide
Which sweeps down Aetna’s groaning side.
VII.
And will ye all in silence now,
The weapons of your warfare bury
Nor stamp the shame upon his brown
Who thus pollutes the sanctuary?
Nay! rather with new zeal press on,
Until the victory he won.
VIII.
And speak for you dishonoured hall,
Where soon will pour the tide of wo,
Or even the stones beneath its wall
Will frown upon you as ye go,
And every tile upon its roof
Will thunder out its stern reproof.
The Church Polluted