Poems (Eaton)/Another

by Marcia Jane Eaton

ANOTHER.^[1]

NOT as Thine ancient servants came
To call upon Thine awful name,
With fire, with victim, and with blood,
To ensure Thy blessing, mighty God.

Not thus we come—our offering,
From joyous, trusting hearts, we bring,
An altar that we child-like raise,
Thy changeless care and love to praise.

Accept it Father—bid us come,
And in Thy presence feel at home,
Here let our prayers and praise ascend,
And round Thy footstool sweetly blend.

Here let the weary aged one,
Whose race in life is almost run,
Receive the foretaste of that rest
He soon shall find on Jesus' breast.

Here let the strong man, in his might,
Submissive bow before Thy sight;
The youth, life's stormy paths untried,
Gain here an everlasting Guide.

And children, Thy peculiar care,
Let them be taught Thy precepts here,
That seeking early, they may find
Thee more than earthly parent kind.

This house, which now we dedicate,
Oh, may we find it Heaven's own gate,
And henceforth, oft assembling here,
In joy or sorrow, prove Thee near.

1. On the dedication of a Church in Barre, Vt.