By A Collection of Hymns

      6-8s. Psalm lxxxiv.
      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.