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Verse 1

Behold what wondrous grace
The Father has bestowed
On sinners of a mortal race,
To call them sons of God!

Verse 2

Nor doth it yet appear
How great we must be made;
But when we see our Saviour here
We shall be like our Head.

Verse 3

A hope so much Divine
May trials well endure,
May purge our souls from sense and sin,
As Christ the Lord is pure.

Verse 4

If in my Father’s love
I share a filial part,
Send down Thy Spirit like a dove
To rest upon my heart.

Verse 5

We would no longer lie
Like slaves beneath the throne;
My faith shall “Abba, Father,” cry,
And Thou the kindred own.

Verse 1

O Mother dear, Jerusalem,
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?

Verse 2

O happy harbor of the saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.

Verse 3

Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;
Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare.

Verse 4

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles do shine;
Thy very streets are paved with gold,
Surpassing clear and fine.

Verse 5

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green,
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.

Verse 6

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.

Verse 7

There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,
And evermore do sing.

Verse 8

Jerusalem, my happy home,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,
Thy joys that I might see!