LORD, should we leave Thy hallowed feet,
To whom should we repair?
Where else, such holy comforts meet,
As spring, eternal, there?
Earth has no fount of true delight,
No pure, perennial stream;
And sorrow's storm, and death's long night,
Soon wrap life's brightest beam.
Unmingled joys, 'tis Thine to give,
And undecaying peace;
For Thou canst teach us, so to live,
That life shall never cease.
Thou, only, canst, the cheering words
Of endless life, supply,
Anointed, of the Lord of Lords,
The Son of God, most High.