“Where Shall I Dwell?”
I came once down in fire and cloud,
Where incense rose and heads were bowed.
In curtains veiled, behind the veil,
Where flesh dare not, nor pride prevail.
My voice was thunder, still and pure,
And only one could stand secure.
The high priest entered once a year—
But not without both blood and fear.
(Hebrews 9:7, KJV)
“Take off thy shoes,” I said before,
“For where I stand is holy floor.”
(Exodus 3:5, KJV)
From burning bush to golden ark,
I drew near where the world was dark.
I gave them patterns, cubits clean—
Each board, each clasp, divinely seen.
The walls I measured, gold I named,
The altar burned where sin was shamed.
(Exodus 25–28; Ezekiel 40–43)
I dwelt where cherub wings would meet,
Above the law, beneath the seat.
But none could touch My glory’s flame,
Unless they bore My covenant name.
If priest would enter clothed in pride,
Or hide a stain they dared not chide,
They’d fall like ash before the ark—
The holy dies when hearts grow dark.
(Leviticus 10:1–2; Exodus 28:35)
Yet now…
Now My temple is no more.
The veil was torn, the ark was stored.
The walls are gone, the fire is fled,
And still I call, but hearts are dead.
“Know ye not,” I say with grief,
“That ye are Mine?” Yet bring no chief.
No sacrifice, no inward light—
They boast My name, but shun My might.
(1 Corinthians 3:16–17, KJV)
(2 Corinthians 6:16)
(Romans 12:1)
“You are My temple, flesh and bone,
Yet I find each man walks alone.
They love their idols, screens, and gold—
Their lips are near, their hearts are cold.”
(Isaiah 29:13)
“I cannot dwell where sin is crowned,
Where pride is king and I am bound.
I long to come, but none prepare—
The throne is gone, the heart is bare.”
I walked once in the courts of stone,
But now I seek a heart My own.
Not one of bloodline, fame, or race,
But those who make My Word their place.
O child, if you would see My face,
Then cleanse your temple, make it grace.
The world has cast My Law aside—
But you, be holy, sanctified.
Let no strange fire burn in you—
No lie, no hate, no counterfeit true.
Come humbly through the torn veil’s thread,
Where My Son rose, though once He bled.
“I wait,” says God, “outside the gate,
But man no longer reveres the weight.
My throne is heaven, My footstool clay—
But where is the house you build today?”
(Isaiah 66:1–2, KJV)
So I will pass until they cry,
Until the watchmen break and sigh.
But to the broken and contrite—
I’ll come again, in fire and light.
(Psalm 51:17)
Written by Marguerite Grace
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verse, possies, sonnets, and short stories 