O Tyre

O Tyre

crowned em­press of the sea

Proud mer­chant for the isles

How at thy fall the princ­es flee

And kings di­vide thy spoils.

The em­pires of man pass away

The ci­ty of God shall en­dure

No foe can her glo­ry de­lay

The pro­mise of God stand­eth sure.

Thy tem­ple pil­lars strew the wave

Thy songs are heard no more.

No sound now breaks thy still­ness save

The surg­es on thy shore.

Because against Je­ho­vah’s land

Was heard thy im­pi­ous boast

In right­eous wrath His migh­ty hand

Hath swept thee from thy coast.

O Tyre

along thy lone­ly shore

The na­tions walk and wail;

To Zi­on—Mount of God—I soar

Whose word can nev­er fail.

In heav­en­ly gar­ni­ture ap­pears

The ci­ty of His love;

Its gold­en harp­ings thrill my ears—

Jerusalem ab­ove!