By James Gates Percival
Joy! the sacred law is found,
Now the Temple stands complete;
Gladly let us gather round
Where the Pontiff holds his seat.
Now he spreads the volume wide,
Opening forth its leaves today,-
And the Monarch, by his side
Gazes on the bright display.
Joy! the secret vault is found;
Full the sunbeam falls within,
Pointing, darkly underground,
To the treasure we would win;
They have brought it forth to light,
And again it cheers the earth;
All its leaves are purely bright,
Shining in their newest worth.
This shall be the sacred mark
Which shall guide us to the skies,
Bearing, like a holy ark,
All the hearts who love to rise;
This shall be the corner-stone,
Which the builders threw away,
But was found the only one
Fitted for the arch’s stay.
This shall be the gavel true,
At whose sound the crowd shall bend,
Giving to the law its due;
This shall be the faithful friend;
This the token which shall bring
Kindness to the sick and poor,
Hastening on an angel’s wing
To the lone and darksome door.
This shall crown the mighty arch,
When the temple springs on high,
And the brethren bend their march,
Wafting incense to the sky;
Then the solemn strain shall swell
From the bosom and the tongue,
And the Master’s glory tell
In the harmony of song.
Here the exile, o’er the waste
Trudging homeward, shall repose;
All his toils and dangers past,
Here his long sojourning close;
Entering through the sacred veils,
To the holy arch he bends;
Then as sinking nature fails,
Hope in glad fruition ends.