The weight of years is on the pile
Our fathers raised to Thee, O God;
On this, our temple, rest thy smile,
Till bent with days its tower shall nod.

Thy word awoke, O Power Divine!
The hymn of praise in nature's hall;
To man Thou gavst to rear thy shrine,
And on Thee as his Father call:—

To pour in music's solemn strain
The heart's deep tide of grateful love;
And kindle in thine earthly fane
A spirit for his home above.

Thou bad'st him on thine altar lay
The holy thought, the pure desire;
That light within a brighter ray
Than sunbeam's glance, or vestal fire.

'Twill burn when heaven's high altar flame
On yon blue height, has ceased to glow;
And o'er earth's dark dissolving frame
The sun-light of the spirit throw.

Father! within thy courts we bow,
To ask thy blessing, seek thy grace;
O smile upon thy children now!
Look down on this, thy hallowed place!

And when its trembling walls shall feel
Time's heavy hand upon them rest;
Thy nearer presence, Lord! reveal,
And make thy children wholly blest.