Jerusalem on high,
my song that city
is,
My home whene’er I
die, the center of
my bliss;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
There dwells my
Lord, my King,
judged here unfit
to live;
There angels to Him
sing and lowly
homage give;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
The patriarchs
of old there from
their travels
cease;
The prophets there
behold their longed
for Prince of
peace;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
The Lamb’s
Apostles there I
might with joy
behold,
The harpers I might
hear harping on
harps of gold;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
The bleeding
martyrs, they
within those courts
are found,
Clothèd in pure
array, their scars
with glory crowned;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
Ah me! ah me!
that I in Kedar’s
tent here stay;
No place like that
on high; Lord
thither guide my
way;
O happy place! When
shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
to see Thy face?
