Rest of the saints above,
Jerusalem of God,
Who in thy palaces of love,
Thy golden streets have trod?
To me thy joy to tell,
Those courts secure from ill,
Where God Himself vouchsafes to dwell,
And every bosom fill.
Who shall to me that joy
Of saint-thronged courts declare;
Tell of that constant sweet employ
My spirit longs to share?
That rest secure from ill
No cloud of grief e'er stains,
Unfailing praise each heart doth fill,
And love eternal reigns.
The Lamb is there, my soul—
There God Himself doth rest,
In love divine diffused through all
With Him supremely blest.
God and the Lamb—'tis well
I know that source divine
Of joy and love no tongue can tell,
Yet know that all is mine.
And see, the Spirit's power
Has ope'd the heavenly door,
Has brought me to that favored hour
When toil shall all be o'er.
There on the hidden bread
Of Christ—once humbled here—
God's treasured store—forever fed,
His love my soul shall cheer.
Called by that secret name
Of undisclosed delight,
(Blest answer to reproach and shame)
Graved on the stone of white.
There in effulgence bright,
Saviour and Guide, with Thee
I'll walk, and in Thy heavenly light
Whiter my robe shall be.
There in th' unsullied way
Which His own hand hath dressed,
My feet press on where brightest day
Shines forth on all the rest.
But who that glorious blaze
Of living light shall tell,
Where all His brightness God displays,
And the Lamb's glories dwell?
(There only to adore,
My soul its strength may find,
Its life, its joy forevermore,
By sight nor sense defined.)
God and the Lamb shall there
The light and temple be,
And radiant hosts forever share
The unveiled mystery.