Happy the saints whose lot is cast

Where oft is heard the gospel sound;

The word is pleasing to their taste,

A healing balm for every wound.

2 With joy they hasten to the place

Where they their Saviour oft have met;

And while they feast upon his grace,

Their burdens and their griefs forget.

3 This favored lot, my friends, is ours;

May we the privilege improve,

And find these consecrated hours

Sweet earnests of the joys above.