But liberty, and triumphs on the Main,
And laurelled armies, not to be withstood —
What serve they? if, on transitory good
Intent, and sedulous of abject gain,
The State ( ah, surely not preserved in vain! )
Forbear to shape due channels which the Flood
Of sacred truth may enter — till it brood
O'er the wide realm, as o'er the Egyptian plain
The all-sustaining Nile. No more — the time
Is conscious of her want; through England's bounds,
In rival haste, the wished-for Temples rise!
I hear their sabbath bells’ harmonious chime
Float on the breeze — the heavenliest of all sounds
That vale or hillprolongs or multiplies!