O holy, placid harp-notes Of that eternal hymn! O sacred, sweet reflection, And peace of Seraphim! O thirst, forever ardent, Yet evermore content! O true peculiar vision Of God cunctipotent! Ye know the many mansions For many a glorious name, And divers retributions That divers merits claim; For midst the constellations That deck our earthly sky, This star than that is brighter-- And so it is on high. Jerusalem the glorious! The glory of the Elect! O dear and future vision That eager hearts expect! Even now by faith I see thee, Even here thy walls discern; To thee my thoughts are kindled, And strive, and pant, and yearn. Jerusalem the only, That look'st from heaven below, In thee is all my glory, In me is all my woe; And though my body may not, My spirit seeks thee fain, Till flesh and earth return me To earth and flesh again. O none can tell thy bulwarks, How gloriously they rise! O none can tell thy capitals Of beautiful device! Thy loveliness oppresses All human thought and heart; And none, O peace, O Zion, Can sing thee as thou art! New mansion of new people, Whom God's own love and light Promote, increase, make holy, Identify, unite! Thou City of the Angels! Thou City of the Lord! Whose everlasting music Is the glorious decachord! And there the band of Prophets United praise ascribes, And there the twelvefold chorus Of Israel's ransomed tribes. The lily-beds of virgins, The roses' martyr-glow, The cohort of the Fathers Who kept the faith below. And there the Sole-Begotten Is Lord in regal state,-- He, Judah's mystic Lion, He, Lamb Immaculate. O fields that know no sorrow! O state that fears no strife! O princely bowers! O land of flowers! O realm and home of Life! Jerusalem, exulting On that securest shore, I hope thee, wish thee, sing thee, And love thee evermore! I ask not for my merit, I seek not to deny My merit is destruction, A child of wrath am I; But yet with faith I venture And hope upon my way; For those perennial guerdons I labor night and day. The best and dearest Father, Who made me and who saved, Bore with me in defilement, And from defilement laved, When in his strength I struggle, For very joy I leap, When in my sin I totter, I weep, or try to weep: Then grace, sweet grace celestial, Shall all its love display, And David's Royal Fountain Purge every sin away. O mine, my golden Zion! O lovelier far than gold, With laurel-girt battalions, And safe victorious fold! O sweet and blessèd Country, Shall I ever see thy face? O sweet and blessèd Country, Shall I ever win thy grace? I have the hope within me To comfort and to bless! Shall I ever win the prize itself? O tell me, tell me, Yes!