A river is, whose streams do glad the city of our God; The holy place, wherein the Lord most high hath his abode.
Things glorious are said of thee, thou city of the Lord.
As we have heard it told, So, in the city of the Lord, our eyes did it behold; In our God's city, which his hand for ever stablish will.
He makes me down to lie In pastures green: he leadeth me the quiet waters by.
The earth thou visit'st, wat'ring it; thou mak'st it rich to grow With God's full flood; thou corn prepar'st, when thou provid'st it so.
To render thanks unto the Lord it is a comely thing, And to thy name, O thou most High, due praise aloud to sing.
He that doth in the secret place of the most High reside, Under the shade of him that is th' Almighty shall abide.
Great is the Lord, and greatly he is to be praised still, Within the city of our God, upon his holy hill.
O send thy light forth and thy truth; let them be guides to me, And bring me to thine holy hill, ev'n where thy dwellings be.
But thou, O Lord, art the most High, for ever to remain.
The floods, O Lord, have lifted up, they lifted up their voice; The floods have lifted up their waves, and made a mighty noise.