Hark! 'Tis the holy temple's bell; <br />The voice that summons me to prayer: <br />My heart, each roving fancy quell; <br />Come, to the house of God repair. <br />There, while, in orison sublime, <br />Souls to the throne of God ascend, <br />Let no unhallowed child of time <br />Profane pollutions with them blend. <br />How for thy wants canst thou implore, <br />Crave for thy frailties pardon free, <br />Of praise the votive tribute pour, <br />Or bend, in thanks, the grateful knee, <br />If, from the awful King of kings, <br />Each bauble lures thy soul astray; <br />If to this dust of earth it clings, <br />And, fickle, flies from heaven away; <br />Pure as the blessed seraph's vow, <br />O, let the sacred concert rise; <br />Intent with humble rapture bow, <br />Adore the ruler of the skies. <br />Bid earth-born atoms all depart; <br />Within thyself collected, fall; <br />And give one day, rebellious heart, <br />Unsullied to the Lord of all.<br /><br />John Quincy Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sabbath-morning/
