For Thee, O God, Our Constant Praise

For Thee

O God

our con­stant praise

In Zi­on waits

Thy chos­en seat;

Our pro­mised al­tars we will raise

And there our zea­lous vows com­plete.

O Thou

who to my hum­ble pray­er

Didst al­ways bend Thy list­en­ing ear

To Thee shall all man­kind re­pair

And at Thy gra­cious throne ap­pear.

Our sins

though num­ber­less

in vain

To stop Thy flow­ing mer­cy try;

Whilst Thou o’er­look’st the guil­ty stain

And wash­est out the crim­son dye.

Blest is the man

who

near Thee placed

Within Thy sac­red dwell­ing lies!

While we

at hum­bler dist­ance

taste

The vast de­lights Thy tem­ple gives.