O God of hosts, the migh­ty Lord,
How love­ly is the place
Where Thou, en­throned in glo­ry, show’st,
The bright­ness of Thy face.

O Lord of hosts, my king and God,
How high­ly blest are they
Who in Thy tem­ple al­ways dwell,
And there Thy praise dis­play.

Thrice hap­py they whose choice has Thee
Their sure pro­tect­ion made;
Who long to tread the sac­red ways
That to Thy dwell­ing lead.

For in Thy courts one sin­gle day
’Tis bet­ter to at­tend,
Than, Lord, in any place be­sides
A thou­sand days to spend.

For God, who is our sun and shield,
Will grace and glo­ry give;
And no good thing will He with­hold
From them that just­ly live.

Thou God, whom heav’n­ly host ob­ey,
How high­ly blest is he
Whose hope and trust, se­cure­ly placed,
Is still re­posed on Thee.