1 Now in the galleries of his grace Appears the King, and thus he says, "How fair my saints are in my sight; "My love how pleasant for delight!"
2 Kind is thy language, sovereign Lord, There's heavenly grace in every word: From that dear mouth a stream divine Flows sweeter than the choicest wine.
3 Such wondrous love awakes the lip Of saints that were almost asleep, To speak the praises of thy name, And makes our cold affections flame.
4 These are the joys he lets us know In fields and villages below, Gives us a relish of his love, But keeps his noblest feast above.
5 In Paradise within the gates An higher entertainment waits; Fruits new and old laid up in store, Where we shall feed, but thirst no more.