The Sanctuary

How amiable thy courts!
Thy temple, Lord, how fair!
How pleasant, still, to lowly hearts,
Thy tabernacles are.

Thither the tribes go up,—
Thy chosen Israel,—
With voice of saintly jubilee
Thy faithfulness to tell.

How excellent they stand,
The gates of praise and prayer!
Would God my weary, fainting soul
Might dwell forever there.

Before the mercy seat
We find our faith’s reward:
A heart made holy to behold
The beauty of the Lord.

Thy ceaseless love, O Christ,
Our pilgrimage shall cheer,
Till, crowned with everlasting joy,
In glory we appear.