O hap­py they who know the Lord,
With whom He deigns to dwell!
He feeds and cheers them by His Word,
His arm sup­ports them well.

To them, in each dis­tress­ing hour,
His throne of grace is near;
And when they plead His love and power,
He stands en­gaged to hear.

He helped His saints in an­cient days
Who trust­ed in His name;
And we can wit­ness, to His praise,
His love is still the same.

Wandering in sin, our souls He found,
And bid us seek His face;
Gave us to hear the Gos­pel sound,
And taste the Gos­pel grace.

Oft in His house His glo­ry shines
Before our won­dering eyes;
We wish not, then, for gold­en mines,
Or aught be­neath the skies.

His pre­sence sweet­ens all our cares,
And makes our bur­dens light;
A word from Him dis­pels our fears,
And gilds the gloom of night.

Lord, we ex­pect to suf­fer here,
Nor would we dare re­pine;
But give us, still, to find Thee near;
And own us, still, for Thine.

Let us en­joy, and high­ly prize
These to­kens of Thy love;
Till Thou shalt bid our spir­its rise,
To wor­ship Thee above.