These are the crowns that we shall wear
When all Thy saints are crowned;
These are the palms that we shall bear
On yonder holy ground.
Far off as yet, reserved in Heaven,
Above that veiling sky,
They sparkle, like the star of even,
To hope’s far piercing eye.
These are the robes, unsoiled and white
Which we shall then put on,
When, foremost ’mong the sons of light,
We sit on yonder throne.
That city with the jeweled crest,
Like some new-lighted sun;
A blaze of burning amethyst—
Ten thousand orbs in one.
That is the city of the saints,
Where we so soon shall stand,
When we shall strike these desert tents,
And quit this desert sand.
These are the everlasting hills,
With summits bathed in day;
The slopes down which the living rills,
Soft lapsing, take their way.
Fair vision! how thy distant gleam
Brightens time’s saddest hue;
Far fairer than the fairest dream,
And yet so strangely true!
Fair vision! how thou liftest up
The drooping brow and eye;
With the calm joy of thy sure hope
Fixing our souls on high.
Thy light makes e’en the darkest page
In memory’s scroll grow fair;
Blanching the lines which tears and age
Had only deepened there.
With thee in view, the rugged slope
Becomes a level way,
Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,
And gladdened by thy ray.
With thee in view, how poor appear
The world’s most winning smiles;
Vain is the tempter’s subtlest snare,
And vain hell’s varied wiles.
Time’s glory fades; its beauty now
Has ceased to lure or blind;
Each gay enhancement here below
Has lost its power to bind.
Then welcome toil, and care and pain!
And welcome sorrow, too!
All toil is rest, all grief is gain,
With such a prize in view.
Come crown and throne,
Come robe and palm!
Burst forth, glad stream of peace!
Come, holy city of the Lamb!
Rise, Sun of righteousness!
When shall the clouds that veil thy rays
For ever be withdrawn?
Why dost thou tarry, day of days?
When shall thy gladness dawn?