(To the choir-master. Melody: The Winepresses. Of the sons of Core. A psalm.)

Lord of hosts, how I love thy dwelling-place!

For the courts of the Lord’s house, my soul faints with longing. The living God! at his name my heart, my whole being thrills with joy.

Where else should the sparrow find a home, the swallow a nest for her brood, but at thy altar, Lord of hosts, my king and my God?

How blessed, Lord, are those who dwell in thy house! They will be ever praising thee.

How blessed is the man who finds his strength in thee! Where there are hearts set on pilgrimage,

the parched ravine turns into a water-course at their coming, new-clad by the bounty of returning rain.

So, at each stage refreshed, they will reach Sion, and have sight there of the God who is above all gods.

Lord of hosts, listen to my prayer; God of Israel, grant me audience!

God, ever our protector, do not disregard us now; look favourably upon him whom thou hast anointed!✻

Willingly would I give a thousand of my days for one spent in thy courts! Willingly reach but the threshold of my God’s house, so I might dwell no more in the abode of sinners!

Sun to enlighten, shield to protect us, the Lord God has favour, has honour to bestow.

To innocent lives he will never refuse his bounty; Lord of hosts, blessed is the man who puts his confidence in thee.