‘Tis said that the temple so stately,

That crowned Moriah's hill, 

Was built without sound of hammer,

The toilers working so still. 

Far off from the grand foundation

Was all the noise and strain 

Of fitting one stone to another,

From base to turret's fane.

And when all were brought together,

The stones of every size, 

The columns, so strong and graceful,

Each in its place to rise, 

They formed so grand a temple

As never before was seen; 

So true in its great proportions,

So bright in its glittering sheen.

Yet there is a greater temple,

And God is he who plans; 

Now gathering his stones together

For his "house not made with hands.' 

And each ransomed soul will be there,

Which evermore, day by day, 

He's fitting for this great temple,

Which will last forever and aye.

Our pains, temptations, and perils,

Our sufferings, sighs, and tears, 

Are God's chisels, tools, and hammers,

Before "the angel appears." 

Let no one shrink from the process,

Let none of the Lord complain; 

But wait with a meek submission;

'T will not be long or in vain.

Away from the noise of the furnace,

Away from the toil and sin, 

Will he carry each of his children,

The beautiful gates within; 

Where each in appointed stations

He will fashion, one by one, 

And Christ will complete the temple,

Himself for the corner-stone.