Psalms 84
O Lord of Hosts! Thy dwelling-place how
fair!
Where Thou art known ‘tis all my joy to
be: A longing pilgrim, fainting to be there,
My heart, my wearied frame, cries out for
Thee.
Despised on earth, yet have I found a
home;
Still on the wing, the swallow knows her
nest;
There is a place where she may lay her
young,
And in Thine altars I have perfect rest.
The blood declares the spotless One hath
died;
The Incense, now my God is satisfied!
How blessed they who in Thy house
abide!
Their whole employ is praise.
How blessed he Whose goings Thou dost
guide;
Who loves and keeps Thy ways.
They in the place of weeping make a well;
In Achor’s thirsty vale receive the rain;
Stage after stage Thy faithfulness they tell,
And where grace reigneth they of last
remain.
‘From strength to strength,’ throughout
the scene of tears,
Till each at length before his God appears.
Lord God of hosts! by whose goodwill we
stand
Secure, through grace, and near—
Thou lookest on the Man of Thy right
hand,
Thy Christ, whom saints revere.
To taste Thy presence is delight so high
I turn no more to past resorts of sin;
Yea, at Thy threshold rather would I lie
Than in those guilty tents be chief and
king.
Life, incorruptibility, are mine,
Now, through Thine own outshining,
brought to light,
Both grace and glory! Lord, the gift is
Thine.
Thou in Thy righteous bounties hast delight.
. .. . . .
Thou only Lord! now in Thy House I see
How blest the man who hath his all in
Thee!