LXI The Heavenly Jerusalem
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 harbour of the saints! 5
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,
Nor hurt, nor ache, nor sore; 10
There is no death, nor ugly dole,
But Life for evermore.
There lust and lucre cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, 15
But pleasure every way.
Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;
Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare. 20
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, 25
Thy windows crystal clear;
Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;—
O God, that I were there!
Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem,
Would God I were in thee! 30
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, 35
Most happy is their case.
We that are here in banishment
Continually do moan,
We sigh, and sob, we weep and wail,
Perpetually we groan. 40
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, 45
Such pleasure and such play,
As that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.
Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green; 50
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.
Quite through the streets, with silver sound,
The flood of Life doth flow;
Upon whose banks on every side 55
The wood of Life doth grow.
There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,
And evermore do sing. 60
Jerusalem, my happy home,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,
Thy joys that I might see!
Anon.