O Lord of hosts, whose glory fills
1
O Lord of hosts, whose glory fillsThe bounds of the eternal hills,And yet vouchsafes, in Christian lands,To dwell in temples made with hands;
2
Endue thy creatures with the graceThat shall adorn thy dwelling-place;The beauty of the oak and pine,The gold and silver, make them thine.
3
Both now and ever, Lord, protectThe temple of thine own elect;Be thou in us and we in thee,Through time and in eternity.