Words: The Scottish Psalter
To the chief Musician upon Gittith,
1 How lovely is thy dwelling-place, O Lord of hosts, to me! The tabernacles of thy grace how pleasant, Lord, they be!
2 My thirsty soul longs veh'mently, yea faints, thy courts to see: My very heart and flesh cry out, O living God, for thee.
3 Behold, the sparrow findeth out an house wherein to rest; The swallow also for herself hath purchased a nest;
Ev'n thine own altars,* where she safe her young ones forth may bring, O thou almighty Lord of hosts, who art my God and King.
4 Blessed are they in thy house that dwell, they ever give thee praise. 5 Blessed is the man whose strength thou art, in whose heart are thy ways:
6 Who passing thorough Baca's vale, therein do dig up wells; Also the rain that falleth down the pools with water fills.
7 So they from strength unwearied go still forward unto strength, Until in Zion they appear before the Lord at length.
8 Lord God of hosts, my prayer hear; O Jacob's God, give ear. 9 See God our shield, look on the face of thine anointed dear.
10 For in thy courts one day excels a thousand; rather in My God's house will I keep a door, than dwell in tents of sin.
11 For God the Lord's a sun and shield: he'll grace and glory give; And will withhold no good from them that uprightly do live.
12 O thou that art the Lord of hosts, that man is truly blest, Who by assured confidence on thee alone doth rest.