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.