Hymn 217

HOw amiable are thy bless'd Tents,
Lord God of Host, to me;
My Soul doth long, yea even faint,
Thy sacred Courts to see.

My heart and flesh cry out for thee
The Everlasting God,
O when shall I come near and see
The place of thine abode?

O happy they who hold a Place
Within thy House to dwell;
For in thy Courts one days short space
A thousand doth excell.

Much rather would I keep a Door,
And in thy House remain,
Than dwell in all the pomp and store
Of Tents of the prophane;

For God a Sun and Shield will be,
With Grace and Glory bright;
And no good thing with-hold will he
From them that walk upright.

Lord God of Hosts, whose Glory reigns,
How happy Man is he,
That tho' debarr'd the outward means,
Yet puts his trust in thee.