Temple of The Real

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.