O Thou, to whom in ancient time <br />The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung, <br />Whom kings adored in song sublime, <br />And prophets praised with glowing tongue,- <br /> <br /> <br />Not now on Zion's height, alone, <br />Thy favored worshipper may dwell; <br />Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son <br />Sat, weary, by the Patriarch's well. <br /> <br /> <br />From every place below the skies, <br />The grateful song, the fervent prayer,- <br />The incense of the heart,-may rise <br />To Heaven, and find acceptance there. <br /> <br /> <br />In this, thy house, whose doors we now <br />For social worship first unfold, <br />To thee the suppliant throng shall bow, <br />While circling years on years are rolled. <br /> <br /> <br />To thee shall Age, with snowy hair, <br />And Strength and Beauty, bend the knee, <br />And Childhood lisp, with reverent air, <br />Its praises and its prayers to Thee. <br /> <br /> <br />O thou, to whom in ancient time <br />The lyre of prophet bards was strung, <br />To thee, at last, in every clime <br />Shall temples rise, and praise be sung.<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-for-dedication-i/
