Ps. xxvii.4

Here on earth a temple stands,

Temple never built with hands;

There the Lord doth fill the place

With the glory of His grace.

Cleansed by Christ's atoning Blood,

Thou art this fair House of God.

Thoughts, desires, that enter there,

Should they not be pure and fair?

Meet for holy courts and blest,

Courts of stillness and of rest,

Where the soul, a priest in white,

Singeth praises day and night;

Glory of the love divine

Filling all this heart of thine.