How sweetly come the holy psalms br From saints and martyrs down, br The waving of triumphal palms br Above the thorny crown br The choral praise, the chanted prayers br From harps by angels strung, br The hunted Cameron's mountain airs, br The hymns that Luther sung! br br Yet, jarring not the heavenly notes, br The sounds of earth are heard, br As through the open minster floats br The song of breeze and bird br Not less the wonder of the sky br That daisies bloom below; br The brook sings on, though loud and high br The cloudy organs blow! br br And, if the tender ear be jarred br That, haply, hears by turns br The saintly harp of Olney's bard, br The pastoral pipe of Burns, br No discord mars His perfect plan br Who gave them both a tongue; br For he who sings the love of man br The love of God hath sung! br br To-day be every fault forgiven br Of him in whom we joy br We take, with thanks, the gold of Heaven br And leave the earth's alloy. br Be ours his music as of spring, br His sweetness as of flowers, br The songs the bard himself might sing br In holier ears than ours. br br Sweet airs of love and home, the hum br Of household melodies, br Come singing, as the robins come br To sing in door-yard trees.