There is a temple real and true,
A dwelling place for God on high,
And all His saints may there commune,
Whose vaults resound with seraphs’ cries.
Yet not on earth was this tent laid,
Nor was it raised by mortal man.
A tent of skin in heaven made,
Erected by the Father’s hands.
Then all the temples which were made:
Of Moses, Solomon began,
Of Ezra, Herod, gold inlaid,
Were shadows, substance-less, and bland.
But Jesus was the true High-Priest,
Who ministered in this true tent.
The temple, yet, though none can see,
Out-shines all sensory content.
Yet Jesus is Himself this place,
For God and man unite in Him.
He is the temple of God’s grace,
And He is the true tent of skin.
Haste to the greatest of priests,
Haste to the preacher of truth,
Haste to the speaker of blessings,
Haste to one greater than you,
Haste to the one who is living,
Haste, for He will make you new,
Haste to the one Abram worshiped,
Haste, this is needful to do!
Under the Law He abided,
Over the Law He resides,
Before the Law He has guided,
After the Law He presides.
Abraham though it was worth his pursuit,
Haste! And the Father will haste Him to you!
My enemies expect my death, destruction of my name,
Disseminating lies and scheming scandals for my shame.
They’re misers of iniquity and men who hoard their sin,
My faithful friend who ate my food turned foe-man in the end!
O, dearest Lord, but You and You alone deliver me,
Give grace and get me up at once again Your call I’ll seek.
By this I know You heard my hollering for help and aid:
If these malicious men may never marshall troops in might arrayed.
I know that You deserve my praise, since You were pleased with me,
For You positioned me that You might hear my prayers and pleas,
You hallowed me and cleansed me of abhorrent calumny,
The Lord be praised in every age, amen eternally!