THE ALPS CATHEDRAL.
HE village church, its joyous bellsAre ringing music chimes;
Filling the air with floating verse,
Like a poet with his rhymes.
'Tis Sunday, and the villagers
Their weekly toil lay by,
To meet the day of holy rest,
In bright festivity.
Their weekly toil lay by,
To meet the day of holy rest,
In bright festivity.
Yes! 'tis Sabbath in the valley,
'Tis Sabbath on the height;
How solemn, deep, mysterious, is
That Sabbath infinite.
'Tis Sabbath on the height;
How solemn, deep, mysterious, is
That Sabbath infinite.
There no rude jar, no earthly voice
Rends the translucent air,
But surpliced rocks of glittering snows
Are priests who worship there.
Rends the translucent air,
But surpliced rocks of glittering snows
Are priests who worship there.
