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Ephesians 2: 20-22

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 24, 1916

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 93, No. 10.

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Ephesians 2: 20-22

By F. J. Greenwood

F. J. GREENWOOD
The Master is building a temple, Bright, beautiful as the sun, That shall stand in its burnished glory As eternity’s years roll on.
He has wrought with infinite patience Through many weary years; Oft was his heart sore heavy, Dimmed were his eyes with tears.
He laid the sure foundation Many thousand years ago, And never has ceased his labors, Though his progress has been slow.
Yes, long has the temple been building, For though planned by the Master- mind, The many stones he needed Were scattered and hard to find.
But every year of the ages Has yielded to him its best, And all of earth’s far corners Have answered to his quest.
To the firm and sure foundation, Which has stood the test of time, He has anchored tried stones of beauty, Gathered from every clime.
To the faith-enlightened vision, E’en now is his work complete; For, though hell should open its flood- gates, Naught can his plan defeat.
The Master, with infinite foresight, Beheld the structure done, When he placed the Chief Stone of the corner, And the work was just begun.
He saw just what was needed To beautify each place, Then found the stone to fill it, And polished it by his grace,—
Polished until its surface Shone with a luster fair, Then placed it next to its fellow, And with love cemented it there.
His eye, searching through the ages, And scanning these present days, Saw many willing and ready To fill a place to his praise.
No time and no place and no people Too remote for his eye to see, When, drawing his plan for the temple, He provided for you and for me.
He is saving our place in the structure That some day will shine as the sun; In love he now joins us together, And will build us in as one.
Oh, we’re nearing the grand dedication, When the Lord to his temple will come, When he’ll seal each fair stone with his signet, And dwell with his people at home.
Now lift up your gates, O ye temple, Swing open your glittering door, That the King in his beauty may enter,— The King whom his people adore.
Now cry out, ye stones, in your rapture, Let praises your voices employ, While the stars of the morn sing to- gether, And the sons of God shout in their joy.
Piedmont, Cal.