How weak the thoughts, and vain,
Of self-de­lud­ing men!
Men who, fixed to earth alone,
Think their hous­es shall endure,
Fondly call their lands their own,
To their dis­tant heirs secure.

Let us in God con­fide,
They for them­selves pro­vide,
Lasting set­tlements they make,
Prudently their views ex­tend,
Thought for fu­ture ages take,
Live, as time would ne­ver end.

How soon may God re­buke
Their fol­ly with a look!
Caused by the Al­migh­ty’s frown,
When the sud­den earth­quake comes,
Then their hopes are tum­bled down,
Then their hous­es are their tombs.

Their lands al­as! And they,
Are swept at once away,
Gaping earth re­ceives them all,
Swallows up the na­tion’s boast;
See the pride of ag­es fall,
In a fa­tal moment lost!

How hap­py then are we,
Who build, O Lord, on Thee;
What can our foun­da­tion shock?
Though the shat­tered earth re­move,
Stands our ci­ty on a rock,
On the Rock of hea­ven­ly love.

A house we call our own
Which can­not be o’er­thrown;
In the ge­ne­ral ru­in sure,
Storms and earth­quakes it de­fies;
Built im­mov­ab­ly se­cure,
Built eter­nal in the skies.

High on Im­ma­nu­el’s land
We see the fab­ric stand:
From a tot­ter­ing world re­move
To our stead­fast man­sion there;
Our in­he­ri­tance above
Cannot pass from heir to heir.

Those ama­ran­thine bow­ers,
Inalienably ours,
Bloom, our in­fi­nite re­ward,
Rise, our per­ma­nent abode;
From the found­ed world pre­pared;
Purchased by the blood of God.

O might we quick­ly find
The place for us de­signed;
See the long ex­pect­ed day
Of our full re­demp­tion here;
Let the sha­dows flee away,
Let the new made world ap­pear!

High on Thy great white throne,
O King of saints, come down!
In the new Je­ru­sa­lem
Now tri­um­phant­ly des­cend;
Let the fi­nal trump pro­claim
Joys be­gun which ne’er shall end!