Blessèd ci­ty, hea­ven­ly Sa­lem,
Vision dear of peace and love,
Who of liv­ing stones art build­ed
In the heights of Hea­ven above,
And, with an­gel host en­cir­cled,
As a bride to earth dost move.

From ce­les­tial realms des­cend­ing,
Bridal glo­ry round thee shed,
Meet for Him whose love es­poused thee,
To thy Lord shalt thou be led;
All thy streets and all thy bul­warks
Of pure gold are fa­shionèd.

Bright with pearls her por­tals glit­ter
They are op­en ev­er­more;
And, by vir­tue of His mer­its,
Thither faith­ful souls may soar,
Who for Christ’s dear name in this world
Pain and tri­bu­la­tion bore.

Many a blow and bit­ing sculp­ture
Fashioned well those stones elect,
In their plac­es now com­pact­ed
By the hea­ven­ly Ar­chi­tect,
Who there­with hath willed for­ev­er
That his pa­lace should be decked.

Grant that all Thy faith­ful peo­ple
May Thy tru­er temple be;
Neither flesh, nor soul, nor Spi­rit,
Know ano­ther Lord than Thee;
But to Thee once de­di­cat­ed
Serve Thee ev­er last­ing­ly.

Come Thou now, and be among us,
Lord and Mak­er, while we pray;
Let Thy pre­sence fill the tem­ple
Which we de­di­cate to­day,
And Thy­self, as con­se­crat­or,
Dwell with­in its walls al­ways.

Glory to thy roy­al Bride­groom,
Salem, sing re­joic­ing­ly;
He, thy Lord, thy light, thy tem­ple,
Dwelleth ev­er more with thee;
His be bless­ing and thanks­giv­ing,
Now and to eter­ni­ty.