ANONYMOUS
70 The New Jerusalem
Song of Mary the Mother of
"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.
There lust and lucre cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,
But pleasure every way.
Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks 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 clear and fine.
Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem,
Would God I were in thee' Would God my woes were at an end,
Thy joys that I might sec!
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