1 Thy Temple is not made with hands,
'Tis lit by many a golden star;
The purple height of mountain lands
Its everlasting pillars are.
2 Thee, highest heaven cannot contain,
Great Lord of earth, and sky, and sea!
Yet enter in, and bless the fane
Adoring hands have reared for Thee.
[3* Unworthy gifts and touched with fears,
And memories of our loved at rest;
Draw nigh, O Lord, and dry our tears,
And be Thy presence here confest.]
4 For welcome to the babe new-born,
For strengthening hands on bended head,
For blessings on the marriage morn,
And sweet words whispered o'er the dead;
5 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.
6 So praise to Thy great Name shall rise
Up from these walls, this sacred floor,
Who made, Who saves, Who sanctifies,
Forever and for evermore.
Amen.
* To be used of a memorial church
First Line: | Thy Temple is not made with hands |
Author: | Cecil Frances Alexander |
Meter: | 8.8.8.8 |
Language: | English |
Copyright: | Public Domain |
Thy Temple is not made with hands. Cecil F. Alexander. [Consecration of a Church.] This hymn is in Mrs. Alexander's Poems, 1896, p. 49, as a "Consecration Hymn." Its date has not been determined.
--John Julian, Dictionary of Hymnology, New Supplement (1907)