1 My God, what endless pleasures dwell Above at thy right-hand! The courts below, how amiable, Where all thy graces stand!
2 The swallow near thy temple lies, And chirps a cheerful note; The lark mounts upward to thy skies, And tunes her warbling throat:
3 And we, when in thy presence, Lord, We shout with joyful tongues, Or sitting round our Father's board, We crown the feast with songs.
4 While Jesus shines with quickening grace, We sing and mount on high; But if a frown becloud his face, We faint, and tire, and die.
5 [Just as we see the lonesome dove Bemoan her widow'd state, Wandering she flies thro' all the grove, And mourns her loving mate.
6 Just so our thoughts from thing to thing In restless circles rove, Just so we drop, and hang the wing, When Jesus hides his love.]