Jesus, how heavenly is the place,

Jesus, how heavenly is the place,
Where thy dear people wait for thee!
Where the rich fountain of thy grace
Stands ever open, full, and free.

Hungry, and poor, and lame, and blind,
Hither the blood-bought children fly;
In thy deep wounds a balsam find,
And live while they behold thee die.

Here they forget their doubts and fears,
While thy sharp sorrows meet their eyes;
And bless the hand that dries their tears,
And each returning want supplies.

O the vast mysteries of thy love!
How high, how deep, how wide it rolls!
Its fountain springs in heaven above,
Its streams revive our drooping souls.