Consecration Hymn

Thy Temple is not made with hands,
'Tis lit by many a golden star,
The purple heights of mountain lands
Its everlasting pillars are.

Thee highest Heaven cannot contain,
Great Lord of earth, and sky, and sea!
Yet enter in, and bless the fane
Adoring hands have rear'd for Thee.

Unworthy gift, and touch'd with fears,
And memories of our loved at rest;
Draw nigh, O Lord, and dry our tears,
And be Thy Presence here confest.

For welcome to the babe new born,
For strengthening hands on bended head,
For blessings on the marriage morn,
And sweet words whisper'd o'er the dead.

For food Divine to souls sufficed,
For words that warn, for prayers that press —
Arise, and enter in, O Christ!
And with Thy Presence all things bless.

So, praise to Thy great Name shall rise
Up from these walls, this sacred floor,
Who made, Who saves, Who sanctifies,
For ever, and for evermore.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.