Scripture Verse

The desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. Isaiah 5:1

Introduction

Words: Will­iam H. Hyde, in Hymns for God’s Pe­cul­iar Peo­ple That Keep the Com­mand­ments of God and the Faith of Je­sus, 1849.

Music: Com­pos­er un­known (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know the com­pos­er, or where to get a good pic­ture of him or Hyde (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

Some may be in­ter­est­ed in learn­ing the ori­gin of [this] hymn…In the spring of 1845, the au­thor of the vi­sion [Ell­en Har­mon White], pub­lished in this pa­per, was ve­ry sick, nigh un­to death. The el­ders of the church were fi­nal­ly called, and the di­rec­tions of the apos­tle [James 5:14,15] were strict­ly fol­lowed.

God heard, an­swered, and healed the sick. The Ho­ly Spir­it filled the room, and she had a vi­sion of the ci­ty, life’s pure ri­ver, green fields, ros­es of Sha­ron, songs of love­ly birds, the harps, palms, robes, crowns, the mount Zi­on, the tree of life, and the King of that coun­try men­tioned in the hymn.

A bro­ther took up his pen, and in a ve­ry short time com­posed the hymn from the vi­sion. It has been pub­lished in two or three Se­cond Ad­vent pa­pers, Smith’s col­lection of hymns, and fin­al­ly found its way in­to the Ad­vent Harp, pub­lished by [Jo­shua Vaugh­an Himes] in 1849.

Let those who des­pise pro­phe­sy­ing, and re­ject the ful­fill­ment of God’s word in vi­sions of the LAST DAYS, re­mem­ber, when they sing this hymn, that it was com­posed from a vi­sion.

James White
The Pre­sent Truth, No­vem­ber 1850

Lyrics

We have heard from the bright, the ho­ly land;
We have heard, and our hearts are glad;
For we were a lone­ly pil­grim band,
And wea­ry, and worn, and sad.
They tell us the saints have a dwell­ing there—
No long­er are home­less ones;
And we know that the good­ly land is fair,
Where life’s pure ri­ver runs.

They say green fields are wav­ing there,
That ne­ver a blight shall know;
And the de­serts wild are bloom­ing fair,
And the ros­es of Sha­ron grow.
There are love­ly birds in the bow­ers green,
Their songs are blithe and sweet;
And their warb­lings, gush­ing ev­er new,
The an­gels’ harp­ings greet.

We have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns,
And the sil­ve­ry band in white.
Of the ci­ty fair, with pear­ly gates,
All ra­di­ant with light.
We have heard of the an­gels there, and saints,
With their harps of gold, how they sing;
Of the mount with the fruit­ful tree of life,
Of the leaves that heal­ing bring.

The King of that coun­try, He is fair,
He’s the joy and light of the place;
In His beau­ty we shall be­hold Him there,
And bask in His smil­ing face.
We’ll be there, we’ll be there in a lit­tle while,
We’ll join the pure and the blest;
We’ll have the palm, the robe, the crown,
And for­ev­er be at rest.