Beside the altar bears His name.
Within the veil, behind the door,
The Lord of Heaven dwells once more.
A silent box of wood or gold,
More holy than the Ark of old -
For here resides, in veiled array,
The Lamb once slain, the Bread each day.
The key is small, yet mighty strong,
It guards the King whom saints belong.
Not kept from us in wrath or fear,
But held with love, for He is near.
The priest, with hand so reverent, still,
Unlocks the gate on Zion’s hill.
And in that hush, the Host is raised,
The angels bow, the faithful gaze.
O mystery of Mercy deep -
That God would choose our bread to keep!
To stay with us in form so small,
Yet reigns the Lord and King of all.
How many pass and do not see
The Power behind the Tabernacle Key.
But faith, though small, will understand:
This is our God, not bread in hand.
He waits, He longs, He calls by name,
Our hearts, not locks, His dearest claim.
Yet still that key, so oft unseen,
Opens the door to the Nazarene.
So pause awhile and bend the knee,
Before the Lord of Calvary.
Where silence speaks and shadows flee -
Unlocked by faith… the Tabernacle Key.
