Thy mansion is the Christian’s heart,
O Lord, Thy dwelling-place secure!
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to Thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Savior of His praise. There too a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the world, maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade,
To part with ease and purchase pain. I know them, and I hate their din,
Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve Thee as I would. O! for the joy Thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when Thou art here!
Thy presence makes this den of thieves,
A calm delightful house of prayer. And if Thou make Thy temple thine,
Yet, self-abased, will I adore;
The gold and silver are not mine,
I give Thee what was Thine before. |
