Everymaid

King's Daughter!     Wouldst thou be all fair,     Without--within--     Peerless and beautiful,     A very Queen?     Know then:--     Not as men build unto the Silent One,--     With clang and clamour,     Traffic of rude voices,     Clink of steel on stone,     And din of hammer;--     Not so the temple of thy grace is reared.     But,--in the inmost shrine     Must thou begin,     And build with care     A Holy Place,     A place unseen,     Each stone a prayer.     Then, having built,     Thy shrine sweep bare     Of self and sin,     And all that might demean;     And, with endeavour,     Watching ever, praying ever,     Keep it fragrant-sweet, and clean:     So, by God's grace, it be fit place,--     His Christ shall enter and shall dwell therein.     Not as in earthly fane--where chase     Of steel on stone may strive to win     Some outward grace,--     Thy temple face is chiselled from within.