Classic Poem

Built on the Rock of Ages, Lord,
Thy living Church abides secure;
Nations and men may fade away,
Thy work of Grace shall still endure.

This temple, to Thine honor reared,
Waits for Thy crowning presence now;
Accept the work our hands have wrought;
We are but dust,—almighty, Thou.

Here men of God shall speak thy praise;
Treasures of thought be gathered here;
And truth, from living lips dispensed,
Fall, welcome, on the listening ear.

With humble faith, with holy joy,
We lay our gift before Thy face:
'Tis dark, but for Thy radiant light;
'Tis poor, but for Thy heavenly Grace.

Then let Thy glorious presence, Lord,
O'er all the hallowed work appear;
And let the living record stand,—
The place is holy; God is here