1 How lovely are thy tents, O Lord!
Where'er thou choosest to record
Thy name, or place thy house of prayer,
My soul outflies the angel-choir,
And faints, o'erpowered with strong desire,
To meet thy special presence there.
2 Happy the men to whom 'tis given
To dwell within that gate of heaven,
And in thy house record thy praise;
Whose strength and confidence thou art,
Who feel thee, Saviour, in their heart,
The Way, the Truth, the Life of grace:
3 Who, passing through the mournful vale,
Drink comfort from the living well,
That flows replenished from above;
From strength to strength advancing here,
Till all before their God appear,
And each receives the crown of love.
4 Better a day thy courts within
Than thousands in the tents of sin;
How base the noblest pleasures there!
How great the weakest child of thine!
His meanest task is all divine,
And kings and priests thy servants are.
5 The Lord protects and cheers his own,
Their light and strength, their shield and sun:
He shall both grace and glory give:
Unlimited his bounteous grant;
No real good they e'er shall want;
All, all is theirs, who righteous live.
6 O Lord of hosts, how blest is he
Who steadfastly believes in thee!
He all thy promises shall gain:
The soul that on thy love is cast
Thy perfect love on earth shall taste,
And soon with thee in glory reign.