The holy song hath died away,
But still it vibrates through our hearts:
And we return, though fain to stay;
Each to his family departs.
The morning bade the temple gate
Lift itself high; we entered in,
And on Thee, Lord, presumed to wait,
Thy grace to seek, Thy smile to win.
Now for the household sacrifice;
The evening rite as incense spread;
And let our blameless hands arise,
Doubting and wrath for ever fled.
Can doubt have place? Thy mercies new
Assure and lift our souls above.
Nor on its altar would we strew
A living coal but that of love.
Oh ’tis an hour of holy calm;
Our tabernacle is in peace;
To Thee shall swell the cheerful psalm,
Teach us Thy Word, our faith increase.
Zion and Jacob share our vows,
Peace be to both: and grace distill
On God’s, and on His children’s house,
The happy tent, the holy hill.
Good, though not best, ’tis to be here,
Soon no such difference shall there be;
True sanctuary, within Thy sphere
the whole family.