Thy Mansion Is The Christian'S Heart, O Lord, Thy Dwelling-Place Secure! Bid The Unruly Throng Depart, And Leave The Consecrated Door. Devoted As It Is To Thee, A Thievish Swarm Frequents The Place; They Steal Away My Joys From Me, And Rob My Saviour Of His Praise. There, Too, A Sharp Designing Trade Sin, Satan, And The World Maintain; Nor Cease To Press Me, And Persuade To Part With Ease, And Purchase Pain. I Know Them, And I Hate Their Din, Am Weary Of The Bustling Crowd; But While Their Voice Is Heard Within, I Cannot Serve Thee As I Would. Oh For The Joy Thy Presence Gives, What Peace Shall Reign When Thou Art Here! Thy Presence Makes This Den Of Thieves A Calm Delightful House Of Prayer. And If Thou Make Thy Temple Shine, Yet Self-Abased, Will I Adore; The Gold And Silver Are Not Mine, I Give Thee What Was Thine Before.