With Gladsome Feet We Press

With glad­some feet we press to Si­on’s ho­ly mount

Where gush­es from its deep re­cess the cool­ing fount;

Oh! hap­py

hap­py hill

the joy of ev­ery saint!

With sweet Si­lo­am’s crys­tal rill

that cheers the faint.

Great ci­ty

blest of God! Je­ru­sa­lem the free!

With cease­less step the path be trod that leads to thee!

The mar­tyr’s bleed­ing feet

the saints with wound­less breast

Alike have sought thy gold­en seat to win their rest.

There

calm­ing all alarms

thy cross of love is traced

Outstretching sa­lu­ta­ry arms

to bless the waste;

The sin­ner there can plead in ev­er list­en­ing ears;

On hope and thee

can sweet­ly feed

and dry his tears.

So this our fes­tal day ce­les­ti­al joy shall raise

While lips and hearts

con­joined

es­say to hymn thy praise!

The ve­ry stones shall ring

re­sound each holy wall

With Thee

Thy­self the rock

our heav­en

our all!