For such the Lord endured the cross, descended to the tomb;
He ready stands to welcome those whose contrite hearts are riven,
To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.
What matter, then, how lowly be the roof above our head,
What matter then how soon the stranger o’er our graves may tread,
If we are pressing on with hearts renewed and sins forgiven,
To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven!
