Ah! Wooden, echoed arches,
Whence ne’er the sound of praise resign,
Up these wooden hallowed halls,
Into the ears of the divine.
Up! Up! Fly fair, golden tones!
Unto the golden light above.
And fair embrace heaven’s walls,
To morph into fine notes of love.
Stop not at this gabled roof,
To return to us down below.
But push thee forth each crevice,
That all the world our Lord may know.
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