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1 How pleasant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of hosts, thy dwellings are!
With long desire my spirit faints
To meet th' assemblies of thy saints.
2 My flesh would rest in thine abode;
My panting heart cries out for God;
My God! my King! why should I be
So far from all my joys and thee.
3 The sparrow chooses where to rest,
And for her young provide her nest;
But will my God to sparrows grant
That pleasure which his children want?
4 Blest are the saints who sit on high,
Around thy throne above the sky;
Thy brightest glories shine above,
And all their work is praise and love.
5 Blest are the souls who find a place
Within the temple of thy grace;
There they behold thy gentler rays,
And seek thy face, and learn thy praise.
6 Blest are the men whose hearts are set
To find the way to Sion's gate;
God is their strength; and thro' the road!
They lean upon their helper, God.
7 Cheerful they walk with growing strength,
Till all shall meet in heav'n at length;
Till all before thy face appear,
And join in nobler worship there.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | How pleasant, how divinely fair |
Title: | The Pleasure of Public Worship |
Meter: | Long Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |
Notes: | Now Public Domain. First Part |