Sunday-Morning: African Traditional Religion poems

Go thou and look for the House of Prayer! 

To the mighty place, and there 

In stunning nature see the GOD OF LOVE. 

The growing organ's ring 

Wakes not my spirit to enthusiasm, 

Like the wild music of the breeze cleared forest. 

The lovely special stepped area and the spiritualist vest 

Energize not such zest in my bosom, 

As where the early afternoon tide pillar

Flash'd from the wrecked stream,

Fast vibrates on the stunned sight; 

Or then again where the cloud-suspended downpous

Compasses in shadows over the plain; 

Or then again when leaning back on the clift's immense tallness 

I mark the surges burst in silver light. 

Go thou and look for the House of Prayer! 

I to the Woodlands will fix, 

Feed with all Natures charms my eyes, 

What's more, hear all Natures tunes. 

The primrose bank will there administer 

Faint aroma to the awaken'd sense, 

The morning radiates that life and euphoria confer 

Shall, with their impact make me feel great inside. 

Furthermore, the full tear that down my cheek shall take, 

Shall talk the prayer of praise I feel! 

Go thou and look for the House of Prayer! 

I to the forests change my direction 

What's more, meet RELIGION there. 

Needs not frequent the high-architecture dome to pray,

Where fitted windows dim the dicey day: 

With LIBERTY, loves to meander. 

Wide over the heathy slope or cowslip valley; 

Or then again look for the haven of the surrounding forest, 

Sweet are these scenes, and when the evening 

Pours in the north silver floods of light,

We charm the Reflexion in the quiet misery, 

Furthermore, considers on the world to come.