Jerusalem, my happy
home!
Name ever dear to
me;
When shall my
labors have an end,
In joy, and peace,
and thee?
When
shall these eyes
thy heaven built
walls
And pearly gates
behold?
Thy bulwarks, with
salvation strong,
And streets of
shining gold?
There happier
bowers than Eden’s
bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow
know:
Blest seats,
through rude and
stormy scenes,
I onward press to
you.
Why should I
shrink at pain and
woe?
Or feel at death
dismay?
I’ve Canaan’s
goodly land in
view,
And realms of
endless day.
Apostles,
martyrs, prophets
there
Around my Savior
stand;
And soon my friends
in Christ below
Will join the
glorious band.
Jerusalem, my
happy home!
My soul still pants
for thee;
Then shall my
labors have an end,
When I thy joys
shall see.
O Christ do Thou
my soul prepare
For that bright
home of love;
That I may see Thee
and adore,
With all Thy saints
above.
Jerusalem, my happy
home,
When shall I come
to thee?
When shall my
sorrows have an
end?
Thy joys when shall
I see?
O happy
harbor of the
saints!
O sweet and
pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow
may be found,
No grief, no care,
no toil.
In thee no
sickness may be
seen,
No hurt, no ache,
no sore;
There is no death
nor ugly devil,
There is life for
evermore.
No dampish mist
is seen in thee,
No cold nor
darksome night;
There every soul
shines as the sun;
For God himself
gives light.
There lust and
lucre cannot dwell;
There envy bears no
sway;
There is no hunger,
heat, nor cold,
But pleasure every
way.
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
God grant that I
may see
Thine endless joy,
and of the same
Partaker ay may be!
Thy walls are
made of precious
stones,
Thy bulwarks
diamonds square;
Thy gates are of
right orient pearl;
Exceeding rich and
rare;
Thy turrets and
thy pinnacles
With carbuncles do
shine;
Thy very streets
are paved with
gold,
Surpassing clear
and fine;
Thy houses are
of ivory,
Thy windows crystal
clear;
Thy tiles are made
of beaten gold—
O God that I were
there!
Within thy gates
nothing doth come
That is not passing
clean,
No spider’s web, no
dirt, no dust,
No filth may there
be seen.
Aye, my sweet
home, Jerusalem,
Would God I were in
thee:
Would God my woes
were at an end,
Thy joys that I
might see.
Thy saints are
crowned with glory
great;
They see God face
to face;
They triumph still,
they still rejoice
Most happy is their
case.
We that are here
in banishment
Continually do
mourn:
We sigh and sob, we
weep and wail,
Perpetually we
groan.
Our sweet is
mixed with bitter
gall,
Our pleasure is but
pain:
Our joys scarce
last the looking
on,
Our sorrows still
remain.
But there they
live in such
delight,
Such pleasure and
such play,
As that to them a
thousand years
Doth seem as
yesterday.
Thy vineyards
and thy orchards
are
Most beautiful and
fair,
Full furnished with
trees and fruits,
Most wonderful and
rare.
Thy gardens and
thy gallant walks
Continually are
green:
There grow such
sweet and pleasant
flowers
As nowhere else are
seen.
There is nectar
and ambrosia made,
There is musk and
civet sweet;
There many a fair
and dainty drug
Is trodden under
feet.
There cinnamon,
there sugar grows,
Here nard and balm
abound.
What tongue can
tell or heart
conceive
The joys that there
are found?
Quite through
the streets with
silver sound
The flood of life
doth flow,
Upon whose banks on
every side
The wood of life
doth grow.
There trees for
evermore bear
fruit,
And evermore do
spring;
There evermore the
angels be,
And evermore do
sing.
There David
stands with harp in
hand
As master of the
choir:
Ten thousand times
that man were
blessed
That might this
music hear.
Our Lady sings
Magnificat
With tune
surpassing sweet,
And all the virgins
bear their part,
Sitting at her
feet.
There Magdalen
hath left her moan,
And cheerfully doth
sing
With blessèd
saints, whose
harmony
In every street
doth ring.
Jerusalem, my
happy home,
Would God I were in
thee!
Would God my woes
were at an end
Thy joys that I
might see!
