Updated: Dec 6, 2020
All that we can see and feel
must not be taken as the real;
least error in our heart of hearts
should claim this tent His work of art.
No earthly eye can yet behold
The hands that lay the streets of Gold;
dimensions even now being formed
In fire of night and earth's adorn.
The timeless Architect has paid
foundations price at break of day,
and builds upon that resting place
with blood-bought beams and nails of grace.
Till hearts of joy replacing fears
make laughter drive away all tears.
Then, only then, reflection sealed,
we'll claim the temple of the real.