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 chirps a chearful 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 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.]