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.]