How dear to me, O Lord of Hosts,
The place where Thou dost dwell;
The ta­ber­na­cles of Thy grace
In plea­sant­ness excel.

My spi­rit longs, yea, ev­en faints,
Thy sac­red courts to see;
My thirst­ing heart and flesh cry out,
O liv­ing God, for Thee.

Beneath Thy care the spar­row finds
A place of peace­ful rest;
Where she may safe­ly lay her young
The swal­low finds a nest.

Then, Lord of Hosts, my king, my God,
Thy love will shel­ter me;
Beneath Thy al­tar’s peace­ful shade
My dwell­ing place shall be.

Blest they who dwell with­in Thy house,
Their per­fect strength Thou art;
Their joy­ful praise shall ne­ver cease,
Thy ways are in their heart.

Their tears of grief, like ear­ly rain,
Sweet springs of joy shall fill;
With strength re­newed they jour­ney safe
To Zi­on’s ho­ly hill.