I love Thy king­dom, Lord,
The house of Thine abode,
The church our blessed Re­deem­er saved
With His own pre­cious blood.

I love Thy church, O God.
Her walls be­fore Thee stand,
Dear as the ap­ple of Thine eye,
And writ­ten on Thy hand.

If e’er to bless Thy sons
My voice or hands de­ny,
These hands let use­ful skills for­sake,
This voice in si­lence die.

Should I with scoff­ers join
Her al­tars to abuse?
No! Bet­ter far my tongue were dumb,
My hand its skill should lose.

For her my tears shall fall
For her my pray­ers as­cend,
To her my cares and toils be giv­en
Till toils and cares shall end.

Beyond my high­est joy
I prize her hea­ven­ly ways,
Her sweet com­mun­ion, so­lemn vows,
Her hymns of love and praise.

Jesus, Thou friend di­vine,
Our Sav­ior and our king,
Thy hand from ev­ery snare and foe
Shall great de­li­ver­ance bring.

Sure as Thy truth shall last,
To Zion shall be giv­en
The bright­est glo­ries earth can yield
And bright­er bliss of Hea­ven.