HOW lovely are Thy dwellings fair, O Lord of hosts, how dear! How precious is the house of prayer Where Thou art felt so near.
How happy they who thus reside In this Thy house of praise; They who for strength in Thee abide, And greatly love Thy ways.
They pass the sad and thirsty vale Of this world’s barren ground As though it were a fruitful dale Where springs and showers abound.
They journey on from strength to strength, With joy and grateful cheer, Till all before our God at length In Zion shall appear.
For God the Lord, our sun and shield, Gives grace and glory bright; No good from them shall be withheld Whose ways, with Him, are right.
John Milton, 1608-74‡