Hymn

Jerusalem, my happy home!
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my labors have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see?

Thy saints are crowned with glory great;
They see God face to face;
They triumph still, they still rejoice
Most happy is their case.

When shall these eyes thy heaven built walls
And pearly gates behold?
Thy bulwarks, with salvation strong,
And streets of shining gold?

There happier bowers than Eden’s bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow know:
Blest seats, through rude and stormy scenes,
I onward press to you.

Why should I shrink at pain and woe?
Or feel at death dismay?
I’ve Canaan’s goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.

From every tribe doth music rise,
All nations form the choir:
Ten thousand times that man were blessed
That might this music hear.

Jerusalem, my happy home!
God grant that I may see
Thine endless joys and of the same
Partaker ever be!

O Christ do Thou my soul prepare
For that bright home of love;
That I may see Thee and adore,
With all Thy saints above.

~Joseph Bromehead, 1748-1826; alt. st. Andrew Sherwood, 2005