Jerusalem the gold­en,
With milk and honey blest,
Beneath thy con­tem­pla­tion
Sink heart and voice op­pressed.
I know not, O I know not,
What joys await us there,
What radiancy of glo­ry,
What bliss beyond com­pare.

They stand, those halls of Zi­on,
All jubilant with song,
And bright with ma­ny an an­gel,
And all the mar­tyr throng;
The Prince is ev­er in them,
The day­light is se­rene.
The pas­tures of the bless­èd
Are decked in glo­ri­ous sheen.

There is the throne of Da­vid,
And there, from care re­leased,
The shout of them that tri­umph,
The song of them that feast;
And they, who with their lead­er,
Have con­quered in the fight,
Forever and for­ev­er
Are clad in robes of white.

O sweet and bless­èd coun­try,
The home of God’s elect!
O sweet and bless­èd coun­try,
That ea­ger hearts ex­pect!
Jesus, in mer­cy bring us
To that dear land of rest,
Who art, with God the Fa­ther,
And Spir­it, ev­er blessed.

Brief life is here our por­tion,
Brief sor­row, short lived care;
The life that knows no end­ing,
The tear­less life, is there.
O hap­py re­tri­bu­tion!
Short toil, eter­nal rest;
For mor­tals and for sin­ners,
A man­sion with the blest.

That we should look, poor wan­der­ers,
To have our home on high!
That worms should seek for dwell­ings
Beyond the star­ry sky!
And now we fight the bat­tle,
But then shall wear the crown
Of full and ev­er­last­ing,
And pas­sion­less re­nown.

And how we watch and strug­gle,
And now we live in hope,
And Zi­on in her ang­uish
With Ba­by­lon must cope;
But He whom now we trust in
Shall then be seen and known,
And they that know and see Him
Shall have Him for their own.

For thee, O dear, dear coun­try,
Mine eyes their vi­gils keep;
For ve­ry love, be­hold­ing,
Thy hap­py name, they weep:
The men­tion of thy glo­ry
Is unc­tion to the breast,
And me­di­cine in sick­ness,
And love, and life, and rest.

O one, O on­ly man­sion!
O pa­ra­dise of joy!
Where tears are ev­er ban­ished,
And smiles have no al­loy;
The cross is all thy splen­dor,
The Cru­ci­fied thy praise,
His laud and be­ne­dict­ion
Thy ran­somed peo­ple raise.

Jerusalem the glo­ri­ous!
Glory of the elect!
O dear and fu­ture vi­sion
That ea­ger hearts ex­pect!
E’en now by faith I see thee,
E’en here thy walls dis­cern;
To thee my thoughts are kin­dled,
And strive, and pant, and yearn.

Jerusalem, the on­ly,
That look’st from Heav’n 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.

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 the 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:
And grace, sweet grace ce­les­ti­al,
Shall all its love dis­play,
And Da­vid’s roy­al fount­ain
Purge ev­ery stain away.

O sweet and bless­èd coun­try,
Shall I e’er see thy face?
O sweet and bless­èd coun­try,
Shall I e’er win thy grace?
I have the hope with­in me
To com­fort and to bless!
Shall I e’er reach thy glo­ry?
O tell me, tell me, Yes!

Strive, man, to win that glo­ry;
Toil, man, to gain that light;
Send hope be­fore to grasp it,
Till hope be lost in sight.
Exult, O dust and ash­es,
The Lord shall be thy part:
His on­ly, His for­ev­er
Thou shalt be, and thou art.