Daily, Daily, Sing the Praises

Daily

dai­ly

sing the prais­es

Of the ci­ty God hath made;

In the beau­te­ous fields of Ed­en

Its foun­da­tion stones are laid.

O that I had wings of an­gels

Here to spread and heav­en­ward fly!

I would seek the gates of Zi­on

Far be­yond the star­ry sky.

All the walls of that dear ci­ty

Are of bright and bur­nished gold;

It is match­less in its beau­ty

And its trea­sures are un­told.

In the midst of that dear ci­ty

Christ is reign­ing on His seat

And the ang­els swing their cen­sers

In a ring about His feet.

From the throne a riv­er is­sues

Clear as crys­tal

pass­ing bright

And it tra­vers­es the ci­ty

Like a sud­den beam of light.

There the for­ests ev­er blos­som

Like our or­chards here in May;

There the gar­dens nev­er wi­ther

But eter­nal­ly are gay.

There the mea­dows green and dewy

Shine with lil­ies won­drous fair;

Thousand

thou­sand

are the co­lors

Of the wav­ing flow­ers there.

There the wind is sweet­ly frag­rant

And is lad­en with the song

Of the ser­aphs

and the el­ders

And the great re­deem­èd throng.

O I would my ears were op­en

Here to catch that hap­py strain!

O I would my eyes some vi­sion

Of that Ed­en would at­tain!