How honored, how dear, is that sacred abode,

Where Christians draw near to their Father and God:

’Mid worldly commotion my wearied soul faints

For the house of devotion, the home of thy saints.

2 Thou hearer of prayer, O still grant me a place

Where Christians repair to the courts of thy grace,

More blest beyond measure one day so employed,

Than years of vain pleasure by worldlings enjoyed.

3 Me more would it please keeping post at thy gate,

Than lying at ease in the chambers of state;

The meanest condition outshines with thy smiles,

The pomp of ambition, the world with its wiles.

4 The Lord is a Sun, and the Lord is a Shield:

What grace has begun, will with glory be sealed;

He hears the distresséd, he succors the just,

And they shall be blesséd who make him their trust.