Our fathers, in the years grown dim,
Reared slowly, wall by wall,
A holy dwelling-place for Him
That filleth all in all.
They wrought His house of faith and prayer,
The rainbow round the Throne,
A precious temple builded fair
On Christ the Corner-stone.

The Angel of the Golden Reed
Hath found their measure strait;
He hears the great Foundation plead
For ampler wall and gate.
The living pillars of the Truth
Grow on from morn to morn,
And still the heresy of youth
Is age's creed outworn.

But steadfast is their inner shrine
Wrought of the heart's fine gold,
Its hunger and its thirst divine,
With jewels manifold,
Red sard of pain, hope's emerald gleam,
White peace, no glory missed
Of righteous life and saintly dream,
Jasper to amethyst.

Spirit of Truth, forbid that we
Who now God's temple are
And keep the faith with minds more free,
Our father's fabric mar.
Better than thoughts the stars that search
Is self still sacrificed,
For only Love can build the church
Whose Corner-stone is Christ.