Jerusalem, the happy home—­
    Jehovah’s throne on high! 
  O sacred city, queen, and wife
    Of Christ eternally! 
  O comely queen with glory clad,
    With honor and degree,
  All fair thou art, exceeding bright—­
    No spot there is in thee!

  I long to see Jerusalem,
    The comfort of us all;
  For thou art fair and beautiful—­
    None ill can thee befall. 
  In thee, Jerusalem, I say,
    No darkness dare appear—­
  No night, no shade, no winter foul—­
    No time doth alter there.

  No candle needs, no moon to shine,
    No glittering star to light;
  For Christ, the king of righteousness,
    For ever shineth bright. 
  A lamb unspotted, white and pure,
    To thee doth stand in lieu
  Of light—­so great the glory is
    Thine heavenly king to view.

  He is the King of kings beset
    In midst His servants’ sight: 
  And they, His happy household all,
    Do serve Him day and night. 
  There, there the choir of angels sing—­
    There the supernal sort
  Of citizens, which hence are rid
    From dangers deep, do sport.

  There be the prudent prophets all,
    The apostles six and six,
  The glorious martyrs in a row,
    And confessors betwixt. 
  There doth the crew of righteous men
    And matrons all consist—­
  Young men and maids that here on earth
    Their pleasures did resist.

  The sheep and lambs, that hardly ’scaped
    The snare of death and hell,
  Triumph in joy eternally,
    Whereof no tongue can tell;
  And though the glory of each one
    Doth differ in degree,
  Yet is the joy of all alike
    And common, as we see.

  There love and charity do reign,
    And Christ is all in all,
  Whom they most perfectly behold
    In joy celestial. 
  They love, they praise—­they praise, they love;
    They “Holy, holy,” cry;
  They neither toil, nor faint, nor end,
    But laud continually.

  Oh! happy thousand times were I,
    If, after wretched days,
  I might with listening ears conceive
    Those heavenly songs of praise,
  Which to the eternal king are sung
    By happy wights above—­
  By saved souls and angels sweet,
    Who love the God of love.

  Oh! passing happy were my state,
    Might I be worthy found
  To wait upon my God and king,
    His praises there to sound;
  And to enjoy my Christ above,
    His favor and His grace,
  According to His promise made,
    Which here I interlace: 

  “O Father dear,” quoth He, “let them
    Which Thou hast put of old
  To me, be there where lo!  I am—­
    Thy glory to behold;
  Which I with Thee, before the world
    Was made in perfect wise,
  Have had—­from whence the fountain great
    Of glory doth arise.”