Scripture Verse

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron’s beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments; as the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion: for there the Lord commanded the blessing, even life for evermore. Psalm 133:1–3

Introduction

Words: Charles We­sley, Hymns and Sac­red Po­ems (Bris­tol, Eng­land: Fe­lix Far­ley, 1742), pag­es 174–75, alt.

Music: Der­went John Ad­cock, The School Hymn­al Tune Book (Lon­don: Trus­tees of E. Marl­bor­ough, 1882), num­ber 30 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Ad­cock (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

portrait
Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Lyrics

Behold, how good a thing
It is to dwell in peace,
How pleas­ing to our king
This fruit of right­eous­ness,
When breth­ren all in one agree;
Who know the joys of un­ity!

When all are sweet­ly joined,
(True fol­low­ers of the Lamb,
The same in heart and mind),
And think and speak the same,
And all in love to­ge­ther dwell;
The com­fort is un­speak­able.

Where un­ity takes place,
The joys of Heav’n we prove:
This is the Gos­pel grace,
The unc­tion from above,
The Spi­rit on be­liev­ers shed,
Descending swift from Christ our head.

Where un­ity is found,
The sweet an­oint­ing grace
Extends to all around,
And ov­er­spreads the place;
To ev­ery wait­ing soul it comes,
And fills it with di­vine per­fumes.

Jesus, our great high priest,
For us the gift re­ceived,
For us, and all the rest,
Who have in Him be­lieved;
Forth from our head the bless­ing goes,
And all His seam­less coat o’er­flows.

On all His chos­en ones
The pre­cious oil comes down;
It runs, and as it runs,
It ev­er will run on,
E’en to His skirts—the mean­est name
That longs to love the bleed­ing Lamb.

From Aar­on’s beard it rolls
(Those near­est to His face)
To hum­ble, trem­bling souls
Who feeb­ly sue for grace:
I know the grace for all is free,
For lo! it reach­es now to me.

Grace ev­ery morn­ing new,
And ev­ery night we feel
The soft, re­fresh­ing dew,
That falls on Her­mon’s hill;
On Si­on it doth sweet­ly fall:
The grace of one des­cends on all.

E’en now our Lord doth pour
The bless­ing from above,
A kind­ly, gra­cious show­er
Of heart-re­viv­ing love,
The for­mer and the lat­ter rain,
The love of God, and love of man.

In Him when breth­ren join,
And fol­low af­ter peace,
The fel­low­ship di­vine
He pro­mis­es to bless,
His chief­est grac­es to be­stow,
Where two or three are met be­low.

The rich­es of His grace
In fel­low­ship are giv’n
To Sio­n’s chos­en race,
The ci­ti­zens of Heav’n;
He fills them with His choic­est store,
He gives them life for ev­er­more.