How Pleasant, How Divinely Fair

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.

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?

The spar­row choos­es where to rest

And for her young pro­vides her nest;

But will my God to spar­rows grant

That plea­sure which His child­ren want?

Blest are the saints who sit on high

Around Thy throne of ma­jes­ty;

Thy bright­est glo­ries shine ab­ove

And all their work is praise and love.

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.

Blest are the men whose hearts are set

To find the way to Zi­on’s gate;

God is their strength

and through the road

They lean up­on their help­er God.

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.