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.