1 How glorious, Lord, thy temple? what desires
Fill my whole soul, O God? what rapture fires?
How asks my glowing heart the glad employ?
My limbs, my very bones, demand the joy.
3 Nigh thee, secure, her nest the sparrow builds;
Thy sacred altar to the swallow yields
Fit refuge for her young; in artless lays
Their sweet melodious throats pour forth thy praise,
4 Thrice happy all who in thy temple dwell!
Thy pow'r, thy praises, they shall constant tell,
5 Thrice happy they, who on their God rely,
And with their victims to his altar hie!
6 Thro' the dry vale as they direct their way,
Their thirst the cooling riv'let shall allay;
To fill their cisterns, falls the kindly rain,
While the vow'd victims to their God are slain.
8 Dread God of battles, hear thy servant's pray'r;
O to his pious vows incline thy ear;
9 'Tis thy anointed pleads; his shield art thou;
Thy own anointed with indulgence view.
10 One day within thy courts to him appears,
A lot more glorious than a thousand years:
The meanest office there I'd nobler own,
Than 'mid the wicked an exalted throne,
11 For, like the beamy monarch of the day,
Dost thou the glories of thy light display;
Thou, like a shield, thy servants dost defend,
And all the blessings of thy mercy send;
No blessing to the righteous thou'st deny;
12 Thrice happy they, that will on thee rely!
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