Jerusalem, my happy home,
When shall I come to you?
When shall my sorrows have an end?
Your joys when shall I see?

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

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

No dampish mist is seen in you,
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 every way.

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

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

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

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

Within your gates no thing does 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 you!
Would God, my woes were at an end,
Your joys that I might see!