The Festal Morn, My God, Is Come

The fes­tal morn

my God

is come

That calls me to Thy hal­lowed dome

Thy pre­sence to adore;

My feet the sum­mons shall at­tend

With will­ing steps Thy courts as­cend

And tread the sac­red floor.

And now we greet with rap­tured eyes

Fair Zi­on tow­er­ing to the skies;

Within her gates we stand:

City of peace! how sweet the sight

When all thy sons in love unite

A ho­ly

hap­py band.

Hither from Ju­dah’s ut­most end

The Heav­en pro­tect­ed tribes as­cend

Their of­fer­ings hi­ther bring;

Here ea­ger to at­test their joy

In hymns of praise their ton­gues em­ploy

And hail th’im­mor­tal King.

May peace for­ev­er dwell with thee

O Salem—thus with bend­ed knee

To Ja­cob’s God we pray;

How blest who calls him­self Thy friend

Success his la­bors shall at­tend

And safe­ty guard his way.

O may’st thou

free from hos­tile fear

Never the voice of tu­mult hear

Nor wast­ing war de­plore;

May plen­ty nigh thee take her stand

And in thy courts with lav­ish hand

Distribute all her store.

Seat of my friends and breth­ren

hail!

Ne’er shall my tongue

O Zi­on

fail

To bless thy loved abode;

Ne’er cease the zeal that in me glows

To seek thy good

whose walls en­close

The man­sion of my God.