The Treasury Of Sacred Song

The court of GOD most High,

The Heaven of Heavens, the Throne

Of spotless majesty!

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My GOD, with Thee,

To see Thy face?

The stranger homeward bends,

And sigheth for his rest:

Heaven is my home, my friends

Lodge there in Abraham's breast.

Earth's but a sorry tent

Pitch'd for a few frail days,

A short-leased tenement;

Heaven's still my song, my praise.

No tears from any eyes

Drop in that holy quire;

But Death itself there dies,

And sighs themselves expire.

There should temptations cease,

My frailties there should end;

There should I rest in peace

In the arms of my best Friend.

Jerusalem on high

My song and City is,

My home whene'er I die,

The centre of my bliss.

Thy walls, sweet City, thine,

With pearls are garnishéd;

Thy gates with praises shine,

Thy streets with gold are spread;

No sun by day shines there,

Nor moon by silent night;

Oh no! these needless are;

The Lamb's the city's Light.

There dwells my LORD, my King,

Judged here unfit to live;

There Angels to Him sing,

And lowly homage give.

The Patriarchs of old

There from their travels cease;

The Prophets there behold

Their long'd-for Prince of Peace:

The Lamb's Apostles there

I might with joy behold,

The Harpers I might hear

Harping on harps of gold:

The bleeding Martyrs, they

Within those courts are found,

Clothéd in pure array,

Their scars with glory crown'd.

Ah me! Ah me! that I

In Kedar's tents here stay!

No place like this on high!

Thither, LORD! guide my way!

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My GOD, with Thee,

To see Thy face?