Classic Poem

There is a holy temple,
A sacred house of God!
By human hands not builded,
By human feet ne'er trod.

No voice of priest or preacher
Is heard its aisles among,
No lofty strains of music
Within its walls are sung:

No richly furnished altar
Stands forth in vain array;
Through many-colored windows
No tinted sunbeams play;

But yet a wondrous structure!
Beyond all mortal art;
Its architect—Jehovah!
Its place—the human heart.

This holy fane is open
By night as well as day;
The Master bids us enter,
He gently leads the way.

He there is ever waiting
Our worship to receive,
Our fainting souls to strengthen,
Our sorrows to relieve.

There, in His holy presence,
True peace alone we find,
When, through its portals passing,
We leave the world behind.

That God may build His temple,
Let us the place prepare:
The human heart is heaven
When the house of God is there.