Our fa­thers, in the years grown dim,
Reared slow­ly, wall by wall
A ho­ly dwell­ing place for Him,
That fill­eth all in all.
They wrought His house of faith and pray­er,
The rain­bow round the throne,
A pre­cious tem­ple build­ed fair
On Christ the Cor­ner­stone.

The an­gel of the gold­en reed
Hath found the mea­sure strait;
He hears the Great Foun­da­tion plead
For amp­ler wall and gate.
The liv­ing pil­lars of the Truth
Grown on from morn to morn,
And still the he­re­sy of youth
Is age’s creed out­worn.

But steadfast is their in­ner shrine
Wrought of the heart’s fine gold,
Its hun­ger and its thirst di­vine,
With jew­els ma­ni­fold,
Red sard of pain, hope’s em­er­ald gleam,
White peace, no glo­ry missed
Of right­eous life and saint­ly dream,
Jasper to ame­thyst.

Spirit of truth, for­bid that we
Who now God’s tem­ple are
And keep the faith with minds more free,
Our Fa­ther’s fab­ric mar.
Better than thoughts the stars that search
Is self still sac­ri­ficed,
For on­ly love can build the church
Whose cor­ner­stone is Christ.