O what their joy and their glo­ry must be,
Those endless Sabbaths the blessèd ones see;
Crown for the valiant, to weary ones, rest;
God shall be all, and in all ever blessed.

What are the Monarch, His court, and His throne?
What are the peace and the joy that they own?
Tell us, ye blest ones, that in it have share,
If what ye feel ye can fully declare!

Truly, Je­ru­sa­lem name we that shore,
Vision of Peace that brings joy ev­er­more;
Wish and fulfillment can severed be ne’er;
Nor do things prayed for come short of the prayer.

We, where no troubles distraction can bring,
We the sweet anthems of Sion shall sing:
While for Thy grace, Lord, their voices of praise
Thy blessèd people ev­er­more raise.

There dawns no Sabbath, no Sabbath is o’er,
Those Sabbath keepers have one, and no more;
One and unending is that triumph song
Which to the angels and us shall belong.

Now in the meanwhile, with hearts raised on high,
We for that country must yearn and must sigh;
Seeking Je­ru­sa­lem, dear native land,
Through our long exile on Babylon’s strand.

Low before Him with our praises we fall,
Of whom, and in whom, and through whom are all;
Of whom, the Fa­ther; and in whom, the Son,
Through whom, the Spi­rit, with These ever One.