O my sweet home, Jerusalem! Thy joys when shall I see-- The King sitting upon His throne, And thy felicity? Thy vineyards, and thy orchards, So wonderfully rare, Are furnished with all kinds of fruit, Most beautifully fair. Thy gardens and thy goodly walks Continually are green; There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. There cinnamon and sugar grow, There nard and balm abound; No tongue can tell, no heart can think, The pleasures there are found. There nectar and ambrosia spring-- There music's ever sweet; There many a fair and dainty thing Are trod down under feet. Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound, The flood of life doth flow; Upon the banks, on every side, The trees of life do grow. These trees each month yield ripened fruit-- For evermore they spring; And all the nations of the world To thee their honors bring. Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place, Full sore I long to see; Oh! that my sorrows had an end, That I might dwell in thee! There David stands, with harp in hand, As master of the choir; A thousand times that man were blest That might his music hear. There Mary sings "Magnificat," With tunes surpassing sweet; And all the virgins bear their part, Singing around her feet. "Te Deum," doth Saint Ambrose sing, Saint Austin doth the like; Old Simeon and Zacharie Have not their songs to seek. There Magdalene hath left her moan, And cheerfully doth sing, With all blest saints whose harmony Through every street doth ring. Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Thy joys fain would I see; Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief, And take me home to Thee; Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead, And take me hence away, That I may dwell with Thee in bliss, And sing Thy praises aye. Jerusalem, the happy home-- Jehovah's throne on high! O sacred city, queen, and wife Of Christ eternally! O comely queen with glory clad, With honor and degree, All fair thou art, exceeding bright-- No spot there is in thee! I long to see Jerusalem, The comfort of us all; For thou art fair and beautiful-- None ill can thee befall. In thee, Jerusalem, I say, No darkness dare appear-- No night, no shade, no winter foul-- No time doth alter there. No candle needs, no moon to shine, No glittering star to light; For Christ, the king of righteousness, For ever shineth bright. A lamb unspotted, white and pure, To thee doth stand in lieu Of light--so great the glory is Thine heavenly king to view. He is the King of kings beset In midst His servants' sight: And they, His happy household all, Do serve Him day and night. There, there the choir of angels sing-- There the supernal sort Of citizens, which hence are rid From dangers deep, do sport.