I must go into the House of the Lord as ivory has decked her walls
Where splendor arrays the woven work of carpet upon her halls.
The saints of old in grandeur stand within her tinted glass,
Within her sacred shrine to view sermon or holy mass.
And seated upon the maple pew the Christian with saintly grace
To match the beauty of the House of the Lord attends his place,
Where priest or pastor fills his own behind the podium
To bring to mind medieval grace in silvery tone’d hymn.
Memorials are many there in the House of the Lord—and oh!
The beauty if the artist’s hand that ever made it so,
Memorials that bring to mind how Christ before was there
And spoke throughout the reach of time:
‘My house is a house of prayer!’
I must go into the House of the Lord with hallowed memory,
A sacred song within my soul, a prayer, a melody.
Within I must in vision find the Holy, the Divine,
I must go into the House of the Lord and make His glory mine.