O LORD of hosts, whose glory fills The bounds of the eternal hills, And yet...

O LORD of hosts, whose glory fills The bounds of the eternal hills, And yet vouchsafes in Christian lands To dwell in temples made with hands;

Grant that all we, who here to-day Rejoicing this foundation lay, May be in very deed thine own, Built on the precious corner-stone.

Endue the creatures with thy grace, That shall adorn thy dwelling-place; The beauty of the oak and pine, The gold and silver, make them thine.

To thee they all pertain; to thee The treasures of the earth and sea; And when we bring them to thy throne We but present thee with thine own.

The heads that guide endue with skill; The hands that work preserve from ill; That we who these foundations lay May raise the topstone in its day.

Both now and ever, Lord, protect The temple of thine own elect; Be thou in them, and they in thee, O ever-blessed Trinity!