PSALM LXXXIV.

George Burgess

My pining soul with longing faints
The Lord's fair gates to see;
My heart and flesh with loud complaints,
Thou living God, for thee!

The sparrow finds her there a home;
The swallow builds her nest:
Around thy altars, Lord, they come,
And lay their young to rest.

O Lord of hosts, my King and God,
How bless'd are they who dwell
Within the courts thy saints have trod,
And all thy glory tell!

How bless'd are they, whose strength thou art;
Whose lips but sing thy praise;
Who bear, within their inmost heart,
The mem'ry of thy ways!

Along the thirsty vale of tears,
With vigorous step they go:
The early rain their journey cheers,
The sparkling fountains flow.

From strength to strength ascend their feet,
And brighter joys are near;
Till all, in Sion's holy seat,
Before our God appear.

Lord God of hosts, oh, hear my cry,
Thou God of Jacob's line;
O God our Shield, with fav'ring eye
On thine anointed shine.

For in thy courts one single day
With richer bliss shall glide,
Than thousands give or waft away
In all the world beside.

I love the threshold at the gate
Where dwells my God within:
More dear to me, e'en there to wait,
Than rule the tents of sin.

For God the Lord, our Sun and Shield,
Shall grace and glory shed,
Nor one kind gift disdain to yield,
Where upright spirits tread.

O God of hosts, the mighty Lord,
How richly bless'd is he,
Whose hope shall bring its sure reward,
Forever fix'd on thee!