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Henry Van Dyke - Roslin and Hawthornden
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FAIR Roslin Chapel, how divine	
The art that reared thy costly shrine!	
Thy carven columns must have grown	
By magic, like a dream in stone.	
 
Yet not within thy storied wall	        
Would I in adoration fall,	
So gladly as within the glen	
That leads to lovely Hawthornden:	
 
A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green	
And vine-clad pillars, while between	        
The Esk runs murmuring on its way,	
In living music, night and day.	
 
Within the temple of this wood	
The martyrs of the convenant stood,	
And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer,	        
From Nature’s solemn altar-stair.
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