O Mother Dear, Jerusalem

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 the saints!

O sweet and plea­sant soil!

In thee no sor­row may be found

No grief

no care

no toil.

No mur­ky cloud o’er­sha­dows thee

Nor gloom

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

heat

nor cold

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.

Thy tur­rets and thy pin­na­cles

With car­bun­cles do shine;

Thy ve­ry streets are paved with gold

Surpassing clear and fine.

Thy gar­dens and thy gal­lant walks

Continually are green;

There grow such sweet and plea­sant flow’rs

As no­where else are seen;

Quite through the streets

with sil­ver sound

The flood of life doth flow

Upon whose banks on ev­ery side

The wood of life doth grow.

There trees for­ev­er­more bear fruit

And ev­er­more do spring

There ev­er­more the an­gels sit

And ev­er­more do sing.

Jerusalem

my hap­py home

Would God I were in thee!

Would God my woes were at an end

Thy joys that I might see!