All things are Thine; no gift have we,
Lord of all gifts, to of­fer Thee:
And hence with grate­ful hearts to­day
Thine own be­fore Thy feet we lay.

Thy will was in the build­ers’ thought;
Thy hand un­seen amidst us wrought;
Through mor­tal mo­tive, scheme and plan
Thy wise eter­nal pur­pose ran.

No lack Thy per­fect full­ness knew;
For hu­man needs and long­ings grew
This house of pray­er, this home of rest,
In the fair gar­den of the West.

In weak­ness and in want we call
On Thee for whom the hea­vens are small;
Thy glo­ry is Thy child­ren’s good,
Thy joy Thy ten­der Fa­ther­hood.

O Fa­ther, deign these walls to bless;
Fill with Thy love their emp­ti­ness;
And let their door a gate­way be
To lead us from our­selves to Thee.