Within thy gates no thing can come
    That is not passing clean;
  No spider’s web, no dirt, nor dust,
    No filth may there be seen. 
  Jehovah, Lord, now come away,
    And end my griefs and plaints—­
  Take me to Thy Jerusalem,
    And place me with Thy saints!

  Who there are crowned with glory great,
    And see God face to face,
  They triumph still, and aye rejoice—­
    Most happy is their case. 
  But we that are in banishment,
    Continually do moan;
  We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weep—­
    Perpetually we groan.

  Our sweetness mixed is with gall,
    Our pleasures are but pain,
  Our joys not worth the looking on—­
    Our sorrows aye remain. 
  But there they live in such delight,
    Such pleasure and such play,
  That unto them a thousand years
    Seems but as yesterday.

  O my sweet home, Jerusalem! 
    Thy joys when shall I see—­
  The King sitting upon His throne,
    And thy felicity? 
  Thy vineyards, and thy orchards,
    So wonderfully rare,
  Are furnished with all kinds of fruit,
    Most beautifully fair.

  Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
    Continually are green;
  There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
    As nowhere else are seen. 
  There cinnamon and sugar grow,
    There nard and balm abound;
  No tongue can tell, no heart can think,
    The pleasures there are found.

  There nectar and ambrosia spring—­
    There music’s ever sweet;
  There many a fair and dainty thing
    Are trod down under feet. 
  Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound,
    The flood of life doth flow;
  Upon the banks, on every side,
    The trees of life do grow.

  These trees each month yield ripened fruit—­
    For evermore they spring;
  And all the nations of the world
    To thee their honors bring. 
  Jerusalem, God’s dwelling-place,
    Full sore I long to see;
  Oh! that my sorrows had an end,
    That I might dwell in thee!

  There David stands, with harp in hand,
    As master of the choir;
  A thousand times that man were blest
    That might his music hear. 
  There Mary sings “Magnificat,”
    With tunes surpassing sweet;
  And all the virgins bear their part,
    Singing around her feet.

  “Te Deum,” doth Saint Ambrose sing,
    Saint Austin doth the like;
  Old Simeon and Zacharie
    Have not their songs to seek. 
  There Magdalene hath left her moan,
    And cheerfully doth sing,
  With all blest saints whose harmony
    Through every street doth ring.

  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem! 
    Thy joys fain would I see;
  Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
    And take me home to Thee;
  Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead,
    And take me hence away,
  That I may dwell with Thee in bliss,
    And sing Thy praises aye.