Be nothing altered of all God hath done;
For who can work divinely fair as He?
Who knows what is, and more, what is to be,
And what to use, and what to let alone;
Nor doth He need to move again that stone
Once laid; nor doth He lack the power, as we,
To add to all its matchless symmetry,
From Ophir, gold, and beams from Lebanon:
So to build up the white dome of the soul,
A stately palace, an eternal home,
For God Himself at length made pure and fit,
Where with great power the Lord Himself will come,
And with a**embled angels crown the whole
With songs and shoutings of "Grace! grace to it!"