In the cleans­èd tem­ple,
On the fes­tal day,
When the whole burnt of­fer­ing
On the al­tar lay,
Then the priest­ly trum­pets
Echoed loud and long,
Then ten thou­sand voices
Sang the Lord’s own song,

When this lost world’s Sav­ior
Left His Fa­ther’s home,
Offered His burnt of­fer­ing,
Saying, Lo, I come,
Then the won­der­ing shep­herds
Heard the an­gel throng
Give God high­est glo­ry
In their glad new song.

When the bo­dy, pur­chased
With Christ’s ran­som price,
Is to God pre­sent­ed,
Living sac­ri­fice,
Then the tide of glad­ness,
Rises high and strong;
Then the heart, re­joic­ing,
Sings the glad new song.

When from dawn to sun­set
Christ shall wor­shipped be,
And the same pure of­fer­ing
Every place shall see,
When again He com­eth
Who has tar­ried long,
Then shall peal the wel­come
Of the glad new song.

Grant us, bless­èd Mas­ter,
So to yield to Thee
Body, soul, and spir­it,
Our burnt of­fer­ing free,
That in Thine own tem­ple,
With the white-robed throng,
We may join for ev­er
In the glad new song.