Hymn [1]

Accept this building, gracious Lord,
    No temple though it be;
We raised it for our suffering kin,
    And so, Good Lord, for Thee.

Accept our little gift, and give
    To all who here may dwell,
The will and power to do their work,
    Or bear their sorrows well.

From Thee all skill and science flow;
    All pity, care, and love,
All calm and courage, faith and hope,
    Oh! pour them from above.

And part them, Lord, to each and all,
    As each and all shall need,
To rise like incense, each to Thee,
    In noble thought and deed.

And hasten, Lord, that perfect day,
    When pain and death shall cease;
And Thy just rule shall fill the earth
    With health, and light, and peace.

When ever blue the sky shall gleam,
    And ever green the sod;
And man's rude work deface no more
    The Paradise of God.

Eversley, 1870.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

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English

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Hymn For The Opening Of Thomas Starr Kings House Of Worship, 1864

Amidst these glorious works of Thine,
The solemn minarets of the pine,
And awful Shasta's icy shrine,

Where swell Thy hymns from wave and gale,
And organ-thunders never fail,
Behind the cataract's silver veil,

Our puny walls to Thee we raise,
Our poor reed-music sounds Thy praise:
Forgive, O Lord, our childish ways!

For, kneeling on these altar-stairs,
We urge Thee not with selfish prayers,
Nor murmur at our daily cares.

Before Thee, in an evil day,
Our country's bleeding heart we lay,
And dare not ask Thy hand to stay;

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Dedication Hymn.

The perfect world by Adam trod,
Was the first temple - built by God -
His fiat laid the corner stone,
And heav'd its pillars, one by one.

He hung its starry roof on high -
The broad illimitable sky;
He spread its pavement, green and bright,
And curtain'd it with morning light.

The mountains in their places stood -
The sea - the sky - and "all was good;"
And, when its first pure praises rang,
The "morning stars together sang."

Lord! 'tis not ours to make the sea
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The Building Of The Temple

(An Anthem Heard In Canterbury Cathedral)

[The Organ]

O Lord our God, we are strangers before Thee, and sojourners, as were
all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is
none abiding.

O Lord God of our fathers, keep this for ever in the imagination of
the thoughts of Thy people, and prepare their heart unto Thee.

And give unto Solomon my son a perfect heart to keep Thy commandments,
and to build the palace for the which I have made provision.

[Boys' voices.]

O come to the Palace of Life,
Let us build it again.
It was founded on terror and strife,
It was laid in the curse of the womb,
And pillared on toil and pain,
And hung with veils of doom,
And vaulted with the darkness of the tomb.

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Hymn

In The Time Of War And Tumults

O Lord Almighty, Thou whose hands
    Despair and victory give;
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Thou wilt not turn Thy face away
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But send Thy peace on hearts that pray,
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Remember not the days of shame,
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Remember, Lord, the years of faith,
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The race that strove to rule Thine earth
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Hymn For The Dedication Of Memorial Hall At Cambridge, June 23, 1874

Where, girt around by savage foes,
Our nurturing Mother's shelter rose,
Behold, the lofty temple stands,
Reared by her children's grateful hands!

Firm are the pillars that defy
The volleyed thunders of the sky;
Sweet are the summer wreaths that twine
With bud and flower our martyrs' shrine.

The hues their tattered colors bore
Fall mingling on the sunlit floor
Till evening spreads her spangled pall,
And wraps in shade the storied hall.

Firm were their hearts in danger's hour,
Sweet was their manhood's morning flower,
Their hopes with rainbow hues were bright, -
How swiftly winged the sudden night!

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Hymn I

O thou, whose presence went before
Our fathers in their weary way,
As with Thy chosen moved of yore
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When from each temple of the free,
A nation's song ascends to Heaven,
Most Holy Father! unto Thee
May not our humble prayer be given?
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And fashioned in Thine image still.
We thank Thee, Father! hill and plain
Around us wave their fruits once more,
And clustered vine, and blossomed grain,
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And peace is here; and hope and love
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And unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.
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