Charles Sprague, American poet, was born in Boston in 1791, and died in 1875. He is entombed at Central Burying Ground in Boston Common. Sprague was called the Banker Poet of Boston as he worked in the banking industry for most of his life, and wrote poetry and prose for intellectual reasons. His poems are mostly about human emotion.
God of wisdom, God of might,
Father! dearest name of all,
Bow thy throne and bless our rite;
'T is thy children on Thee call.
Glorious One! look down from heaven,
Warm each heart and wake each vow;
Unto Thee this house is given;
With thy presence fill it now.
Fill it now! on every soul
Shed the incense of thy grace,
While our anthem-echoes roll
Round the consecrated place;
While thy holy page we read,
While the prayers Thou lov'st ascend,
While thy cause thy servants plead, —
Fill this house, our God, our friend.
Fill it now — O, fill it long!
So, when death shall call us home,
Still to Thee, in many a throng,
May our children's children come.
Bless them. Father, long and late.
Blot their sins, their sorrows dry;
Make this place to them the gate
Leading to thy courts on high.
There, when time shall be no more,
When the feuds of earth are past,
May the tribes of every shore
Congregate in peace at last!
Then to Thee, thou One all-wise,
Shall the gathered millions sing,
Till the arches of the skies
With their hallelujahs ring.
— The Poetical and Prose Writings of Charles Sprague, New Edition, A. Williams & Co, 1876