We are on our jour­ney home,
Where Christ our Lord is gone;
We shall meet around His throne,
When He makes His peo­ple one,
In the new, in the new Je­ru­sa­lem.

We can see that dis­tant home,
Though clouds rise dark be­tween;
Faith views the ra­di­ant dome,
And a lus­ter flash­es keen
From the new, from the new Je­ru­sa­lem.

O glo­ry shin­ing far
From the ne­ver set­ting sun,
O trem­bling morn­ing star,
Our jour­ney’s al­most done,
To the new, to the new Je­ru­sa­lem.

O ho­ly, heav­en­ly home,
O rest eter­nal there:
When shall the exi­les come,
Where they cease from earth­ly care,
In the new, in the new Je­ru­sa­lem.

Our hearts are break­ing now
Those man­sions fair to see;
O Lord, Thy hea­vens bow,
And raise us up to Thee,
To the new, to the new Je­ru­sa­lem.