Classic Poem

Great God, the Giver of all graces,
Whom highest Heav'n cannot contain,
Yet wondrous in Thy holy places —
Arise, O Lord! and bless our fane.

Be here, O Christ of our salvation,
As once in Israel's temple fair;
Cleanse Thou from sin our poor oblation,
And make this house a house of prayer.

In dark old times our sires upbuilded
The walls, and dream'd a loftier shrine;
In days still dark we have fulfill'd it —
Accept the work and make it Thine.

The voice of prayer and song of psalter
Up thro' these time-grey arches roll'd.
Come down and bless again Thine altar,
And take the new things with the old.

Bless it for nuptial benediction,
For hands upon the bended head,
For words that pardon sin's affliction,
For Creed proclaim'd, and Gospel read;

For feast divine of high communion —
The broken bread, the wine outpour'd;
The dead with living hearts in union,
The memory dear, the present Lord.

Let day by day the strain ascending
From choir and people meet Thine ear,
With swell of solemn organ blending,
And order'd service all the year.

Come down and give Thy consecration,
Make pure the heart, exalt the voice;
Clothe, Lord, Thy priests with Thy salvation,
And make Thy chosen saints rejoice.