1 My God, what endless pleasures dwell
Above at thy right hand!
Thy courts below, how amiable,
Where all thy graces stand!

2 The swallow near thy temple lies,
And chips a cheerful note;
The lark mounts upward to the skies,
And tunes his 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 quick'ning 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,
Wand'ring 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 droop and hang the wing,
When Jesus hides his love.]