Blest are the sons of peace,
Whose hearts and hopes are one,
Whose kind de­signs to serve and please
Thro’ all their act­ions run.

Blest is the pi­ous house
Where zeal and friend­ship meet,
Their songs of praise, their min­gled vows,
Make their com­mun­ion sweet.

Thus when on Aar­on’s head
They poured the rich per­fume,
The oil through all his rai­ment spread,
And plea­sure filled the room.

Thus on the heav’n­ly hills
The saints are blest above,
Where joy like morn­ing dew dis­tills,
And all the air is love.