The House of God.
1 There's a refuge of peace from the tempests that beat,
From the dark clouds that threaten, the wild wind that blows;
A holy, a sweet and a lovely retreat,
A spring of refreshment, a place of repose.
2 'Tis the house of my God, 'tis the dwelling of prayer,
The temple all hallowed by blessing and praise;
If sorrow and faithlessness conquer me, there
My heart to the throne of his grace I can raise.
3 For a refuge like this, ah, what praises are due!
For a rest so serene, for a covert so fair:
Ah, why are the seasons of worship so few?
And why are so seldom the meetings of prayer?