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"Go! carry hence your worldly pride,
The pure in heart shall enter here,
The humble come their brows to hide.
The mourner to dispel his tear.
The pure in heart shall enter here,
The humble come their brows to hide.
The mourner to dispel his tear.
"A den of thieves my house ye make,
Depart"—t' was peace and silence there,
Profoundly deep—a calm, to break
Only to holiest sounds of prayer.
Depart"—t' was peace and silence there,
Profoundly deep—a calm, to break
Only to holiest sounds of prayer.
And Jesus felt the blest repose
Divinely sweet. Oh! is there not
A soothing for our bitterest woes,
Within that shrined and sacred spot?
Divinely sweet. Oh! is there not
A soothing for our bitterest woes,
Within that shrined and sacred spot?
A holier temple still, is ours,
In the veiled precincts of the heart;
Our sacrifice—its noblest powers,
Beyond the proudest domes of art.
In the veiled precincts of the heart;
Our sacrifice—its noblest powers,
Beyond the proudest domes of art.
No worldly fears must enter in
That blest retreat—no sordid care,
No clouds of doubt, no stains of sin,
That sacred spot with God must share.
That blest retreat—no sordid care,
No clouds of doubt, no stains of sin,
That sacred spot with God must share.
