God is a Spirit; and they that worship him, must worship Him in spirit and in truth.
WHERE shall we worship Thee,
Great God of Majesty,
Unto what region shall we turn our feet?
From what most lovely spot,
Temple, or grove, or grot,
Shall our prayer rise to Thee an offering meet?

Sitting beside the rills,
That from the ancient hills
Gush with a sound like a glad spirit's song;
Or in the valleys, where
The lakelets gathered are,
Or the calm river gently glides along?

Kneeling beneath the trees,
That, in the midnight breeze,
Arched darkly, wave betwixt us and the sky;
Or resting in the glade,
The quiet twilight shade,
Where the young spring leaves quiver green on high?

Or 'neath the vaulted roof,
That, strong and tempest-proof,
Riseth with many a sculptured legend graved;
Or in the chapel old,
Where altars blaze with gold,
And banners through long years have proudly waved?

Or by our kindred's tombs,
In twilight's gathering glooms,
Or by the waters of the pathless sea,—
The broad, the bounding deep,
Where restless whirlwinds sweep,—
Or where, Almighty! shall we worship Thee?

Father! Thou hearest prayer,
In these, and every where,
When riseth up from contrite hearts the tone;
In crowds and solitude,
Who hath for mercy sued,
Hath made thy undefined peace his own.

Not in the hermit's cave,
Or by the rushing wave,
In the unsorrowing bosom's depths Thou art;
Where'er pure prayer ascends,
Thy power that prayer attends,
Thy living temple is the human heart.

Vainly we bow the knee,
Unless the soul to Thee
Does with the fire of holy fervour thrill;
Vainly our hands we lift,
Unless we have the gift
To commune with our spirits, and be still.