JERUSALEM, MY HAPPY HOME
Anonymous (From the Latin)
Jerusalem, my happy home,
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of the saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.
Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen;
Quite through the streets with silver sound
The flood of life doth flow,
Upon whose banks on every side
The wood of life doth grow.
The saints are crowned with glory great,
They see God face to face;
They triumph still, they still rejoice:
Most happy is their case;
For there they live in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play,
As that to them a thousand years,
Doth seem as yesterday.
There Magdalene hath left her moan,
And cheerfully doth sing
With blessed saints, whose harmony
In every street doth ring.
Ah, my sweet home Jerusalem,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end
Thy joys that I might see!
