Westminster Abbey with its sainted dead
Is hallowed ground where millions yet shall tread;
Love rears the Taj Mahal of rare design,
And wondrous beauty wrought in every line;
To Rome and Athens other hosts have led,
And where the great Napoleon makes his bed;
The faithful dream of ancient Palestine.
Some seek the home of poet, martyr, seer,
Of ruler, beggar, saint or cavalier,
According as these lives have left impress
Upon the soul of man, his life to bless.
Each heart bows low before some cherished shrine
The bitter cross where John Brown hung is mine.