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The Building of Temples
Robert M. Millard
Its massive pillars, its stately walls
Are a tribute to craftsmen′s skill
It stands in majestic form complete,
Its place in the world to fill,
It compensates for the years delayed
For the toil and the sacrifice,
And to all who helped to build it comes
As a wondrous and well earned prize.
Ah! yes, we have builded a temple grand,
We are fraught with the thrill of pride,
The art to achieve in a noble cause
Brings comfort that will abide.
The architect′s approval is had,
It is good work, true and square
Each small detail in the splendid whole
Has been tempered with skill and care.
Then I wonder––what of the temple of God
That is hidden within my heart?
Am I building this with lofty tools,
Am I moulding its every part
With brotherly love and faith and truth,
With justice to every man,
Am I building into this sacred thing
The very best that I can?
For temples of stone shall crumble to dust,
Their memory fade with the days,
But the temple I rear in my heart of hearts
Nor time nor death can efface.
And whether for weal or whether for woe
I proclaim myself at the shrine
Of God or mammon, of heights or of depths,
As I work on this temple of mine.
It is not given that I should know
The time allotted me here,
But the highways and byways are well defined,
The paths I may travel are clear.
And when at last the darkness ensues
And the things of the world become dim,
All that shall matter is, will God approve
The temple I′ve builded to HIM?
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