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

In thee no sickness may be seen,
No hurt, no ache, no sore,
In thee there is no dread of death,
But life for evermore.

No dampish mist is seen in thee,
No cold nor darksome night,
there every soul shines as the sun,
There God himself gives light.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell
there envy bears no sway,
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,
But pleasure ev’ry way.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
God grant I once may see
thy endless joys, and of the same
Partaker I may be!

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

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

Thy houses are of ivory,
Thy windows crystal clear;
Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;
O God that I were there.

Within thy gates nothing doth come,
That is not passing clean
No spider’s web, no dirt, no dust,
No filth may there be seen.

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!