O heavenly Je­ru­sa­lem,
Of ev­er­last­ing halls,
Thrice bless­èd are the people
Thou stor­est in thy walls.

Thou art the gold­en man­sion,
Where saints for­ev­er sing,
The seat of God’s own chos­en,
The pal­ace of the king.

There God for­ev­er sit­teth,
Himself of all the crown,
The Lamb, the Light that shin­eth,
And ne­ver go­eth down.

Naught to this seat ap­proach­eth
Their sweet peace to mo­lest;
They sing their God for­ev­er,
Nor day nor night they rest.

Sure hope doth thi­ther lead us;
Our long­ings thi­ther tend;
May short lived toil ne’er daunt us
For joys that can­not end.

To Christ the sun that light­ens
His Church above, be­low,
To Fa­ther, and to Spir­it,
All things cre­at­ed bow.