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.
G. T. S.
