Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
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,
3. The sparrow chooses where to rest,
4. 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.
5. Blest are the souls who find a place
6. Blest are the men whose hearts are set
7. 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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