Lord Jesus, who with fiery zeal
The temple cleansed with braided cords,
Your present children bring to heel
From Mammon, Self and other lords.
You would not have Your Father's house
Become a den of merchandise;
What passion must this day arouse,
When men sell blessings for a price!
Woe to the teachers who grow rich
Proclaiming what men want to hear!
Woe to the liars who bewitch
The simple from Your simple fear!
Yet when we look into our hearts,
Do we not see another lord?
With subtlety he plies his arts,
Implants the love of base reward—
Of pleasure, power, wealth and fame,
Of wickedness in holy guise.
Cleanse us, Lord Jesus, lest our shame
Delight the unbelievers' eyes.
From out Your Spirit's temple, Lord,
Which is our body, drive them out;
Let famine, sickness, shipwreck, sword,
If need be, set our gods to rout.
As living stones, then, let us share
In one pure temple, filled with You.
Make us as one a house of prayer,
By Your bold zeal kept free and true.
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