The best and dearest Father,
    Who made me and who saved,
  Bore with me in defilement,
    And from defilement laved,
  When in his strength I struggle,
    For very joy I leap,
  When in my sin I totter,
    I weep, or try to weep: 
  Then grace, sweet grace celestial,
    Shall all its love display,
  And David’s Royal Fountain
    Purge every sin away.

  O mine, my golden Zion! 
    O lovelier far than gold,
  With laurel-girt battalions,
    And safe victorious fold! 
  O sweet and blessed Country,
    Shall I ever see thy face? 
  O sweet and blessed Country,
    Shall I ever win thy grace? 
  I have the hope within me
    To comfort and to bless! 
  Shall I ever win the prize itself? 
    O tell me, tell me, Yes!

  Exult!  O dust and ashes! 
    The Lord shall be thy part;
  His only, his forever,
    Thou shalt be, and thou art! 
  Exult, O dust and ashes! 
    The Lord shall be thy part;
  His only, his forever,
    Thou shalt be, and thou art!

From the Latin of BERNARD DE MORLAIX.

Translation of JOHN MASON NEALE.

* * * * *

THE NEW JERUSALEM;

    OR, THE SOUL’S BREATHING AFTER THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY.

    “Since Christ’s fair truth needs no man’s art,
    Take this rude song in better part.”

  O mother dear, Jerusalem,
    When shall I come to thee? 
  When shall my sorrows have an end—­
    Thy joys when shall I see? 
  O happy harbor of God’s saints! 
    O sweet and pleasant soil! 
  In thee no sorrows can be found—­
    No grief, no care, no toil.

  In thee no sickness is at all,
    No hurt, nor any sore;
  There is no death nor ugly night,
    But life for evermore. 
  No dimming cloud o’ershadows thee,
    No cloud nor darksome night,
  But 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, thirst, nor heat. 
    But pleasures every way. 
  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem! 
    Would God I were in thee! 
  Oh! that my sorrows had an end,
    Thy joys that I might see!

  No pains, no pangs, no grieving griefs,
    No woful night is there;
  No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard—­
    No well-away, no fear. 
  Jerusalem the city is
    Of God our king alone;
  The Lamb of God, the light thereof,
    Sits there upon His throne.

  O God! that I Jerusalem
    With speed may go behold! 
  For why? the pleasures there abound
    Which here cannot be told. 
  Thy turrets and thy pinnacles
    With carbuncles do shine—­
  With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite,
    Surpassing pure and fine.

  Thy houses are of ivory,
    Thy windows crystal clear,
  Thy streets are laid with beaten gold—­
    There angels do appear. 
  Thy walls are made of precious stone,
    Thy bulwarks diamond square,
  Thy gates are made of orient pearl—­
    O God! if I were there!