| How beautiful, how rich and fair
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| The portals of Your temple are
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| To spend one day within Your courts
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| Surpasses even thousands.
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| There sparrow and the swallow nest
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| Around Your altar finding rest
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| And me, in robes, I do not own,
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| Find grace and affirmation.
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| For there a fountain flows,
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| Poured on my thirsty soul
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| Just like the autumn rain
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| Falls on a desert place.
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| You traced Your finger in this clay
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| And my accusers melt away
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| The words You speak when we’re alone
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| My heart and will compelling.
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| These loafs and fishes that we bring
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| Our simple childlike offering
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| From which a banquet You prepare
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| Within Your courts rejoicing. |