1 Though wandering in a stranger-land,
Though on the waste no altar stand,
Take comfort! thou art not alone,
While Faith hath marked thee for her own.
2 Wouldst thou a temple? look above, --
The heavens stretch over all in love;
A book? for thine evangel scan
The wondrous history of man.
3 And though no organ-peal be heard,
In harmony the winds are stirred;
And there the morning stars upraise
Their ancient songs of deathless praise.