O Thou Not Made with Hands

O thou not made with hands

Not throned above the skies

Nor walled with shin­ing walls

Nor framed with stones of price

More bright than gold or gem

God’s own Je­ru­sa­lem.

Where’er the gen­tle heart

Finds cour­age from ab­ove;

Where’er the heart for­sook

Warms with the breath of love;

Where faith bids fear de­part

City of God

thou art.

Thou art wher­e’er the proud

In hum­ble­ness melts down;

Where self it­self yields up;

Where mar­tyrs win their crown;

Where faith­ful souls pos­sess

Themselves in per­fect peace.

Where in life’s com­mon ways

With cheer­ful feet we go;

Where in His steps we tread

Who trod the way of woe;

Where He is in the heart

City of God

thou art.

Not throned ab­ove the skies

Nor gold­en-walled afar

But where Christ’s two or three

In His name ga­thered are

Be in the midst of them

God’s own Je­ru­sa­lem.