1 Now in the galleries of his grace
Appears the King, and thus he says,
|How fair my saints are in my sight;
|My love how pleasant for delight!|
2 Kind is thy language, sovereign Lord,
There's heavenly grace in every word:
From that dear mouth a stream divine
Flows sweeter than the choicest wine.
3 Such wondrous love awakes the lip
Of saints that were almost asleep,
To speak the praises of thy name,
And makes our cold affections flame.
4 These are the joys he lets us know
In fields and villages below,
Gives us a relish of his love,
But keeps his noblest feast above.
5 In Paradise within the gates
An higher entertainment waits;
Fruits new and old laid up in store,
Where we shall feed, but thirst no more.