1 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.
2 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?
3 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.
4 Blest are the souls that find a place
Within the temple of thy grace;
There they behold thy gentler rays,
And seek thy face, and learn thy praise.
5 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.
6 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.
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