O! know ye not that ye

The temple are of God?

Revere the earth-built shrine, where He

Should find a meet abode!

Immortal man, keep pure

Thyself, that mystic shrine;

Let hate of all that's dark endure,

And love of all divine.

Let saintly thoughts be shown

In act by saintly things;

Like glories through the temple thrown,

From cherub’s curtained wings.

Let life, a holy stream,

Its fountain holy show;

Reflecting, with a softened gleam,

Heaven’s purity below.