Jehovah, God, who dwelt of old
In temples made with hands,
Thy power display, Thy truth unfold,
Where this new temple stands.
Vouchsafe to meet Thy children here,
Nor ever hence depart;
From sorrow’s eye wipe every tear,
And bless each longing heart.
The rich man’s gift, the widow’s mite,
Are blended in these walls;
These altars welcome all alike
Who heed God’s gracious calls.
From things unholy and unclean
We separate this place;
May naught here ever come between
This people and Thy face!
Now with this house we give to Thee
Ourselves, our hearts, our all,
The pledge of faith and loyalty,
Held subject to Thy call.
And when at last the blood washed throng
Is gathered from all lands,
We’ll enter with triumphant songs
The house not made with hands.