Twas a spiritual home
Without steeple or dome
Apostles were its foundation
Living stones formed each wall
Which stood mighty and tall
Built to God’s specification

Without chambers or halls
And no earthly walls
Built from wood, hay and stubble
These kindle and burn
Such things God would spurn
Anything turning to rubble

The halt and the blind
The injured of mind
So poor they count their bones
I think you will find
God is loving and kind
Never planning to use such as stones

We turned bread into stone
Food meant for His own
Building worldly temples instead
Neglecting God’s people
With every new steeple
These buildings were built with the dead

There’s no use in crying
For the sick and dying
If we continue to rob the poor
Like the sinful rabble
At the tower of Babble
Such structures God won’t ignore

Many suffered and bled
When they should have been fed
Each stone represents a life
We knew God would care
So how did we dare
Attempt to build Him a wife