We rear not a temple,
Like Judah’s of old,
Whose portals were marble,
Whose vaultings were gold;
No incense is lighted,
No victims are slain,
No monarch kneels praying
To hallow the fane.

More simple and lowly
The walls that we raise,
And humbler the pomp of
Procession and praise,
Where the heart is the altar
Whence incense shall roll,
And Messiah the King
Who shall pray for the soul.

O Fa­ther, come in!
But not in the cloud
Which filled the bright courts where
Thy chosen ones bowed;
But come in that Spi­rit
Of glo­ry and grace,
Which beams on the soul
And illumines the race.

O come in the power of
Thy life giving Word,
And reveal to each heart
Its Re­deem­er and Lord;
Till faith bring the peace
To the penitent giv’n,
And love fill the air with
The fragrance of Heav’n.

The pomp of Moriah
Has long passed away,
And soon shall our frailer
Erection decay;
But the souls that are builded
In worship and love
Shall be temples of God,
Everlasting above.