Passover roads climbed toward the holy place,

But trade had filled the courts and profit wore a sacred face.

Oxen, sheep, and cages where prayer was meant to rise,

Silver struck the tables beneath religious eyes.

Small cords in his hand,

No bargain in his gaze;

The house called for worship

Had learned another praise.

The zeal of thine house hath eaten him up;

Coins hit the stone and the market was struck.

Take these things hence, let the merchandise cease;

A Father's house is not a marketplace of greed.

The zeal of thine house, a fire clean and true,

Judged what men had made where worship should have moved.

Tables turned like verdicts,

The animals were driven;

Doves were carried outward,

The crowded court was riven.

The rulers asked for proof:

"What sign can make this right?"

He answered with a temple

No mason raised in sight.

Destroy this temple.

Three days.

It shall rise.

"Forty-six years building,

And thou wilt raise it then?"

They measured stone and timber,

But missed the Son of man.

He spoke about his body,

A sign beyond their breath;

The saying slept in memory

Until he rose from death.

The zeal of thine house hath eaten him up;

Coins hit the stone and the market was struck.

Take these things hence, let the merchandise cease;

A Father's house is not a marketplace of greed.

The zeal of thine house, a fire clean and true,

Pointed past the stones to the temple they would bruise.

Many saw the wonders

And honored Jesus' name,

Yet he would not entrust himself

To every sudden claim.

No witness had to tell him

What any heart had planned;

He knew the thoughts behind the praise,

He knew what lived in man.

The courts grew still.

The coins stopped spinning.

The true temple waited for the third day.