Home of my soul, how near,

At times, to faith's foreseeing eye,

Thy golden gates appear!

Once more,

Amen-so let it be!

Tune-St. Augustine, 209.

"Let us labour, therefore, to enter into that rest."

1

WHERE shall rest be found,

Rest for the weary soul?

"Twere vain the ocean's depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole.

The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh;

"Tis not the whole of life to live,

Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears

There is a life above,

Unmeasured by the flight of years,

And all that life is love!

There is a death whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath;
O what eternal horrors hang
Around the second death!
Lord God of truth and grace,
Teach us that death to shun;
Lest we be banished from Thy face,
And evermore undone.

Low these goodly frames must lie,
All our pomp and glory die;
Soon the spoiler seeks his prey,
Soon he bears us all away.

3 Yet the seed, upraised again,

Clothes with green the smiling plain;
Onward as the seasons move,
Leaves and blossoms deck the grove;
And shall we forgotten lie,
Lost for ever, when we die?

4 Lord, from nature's gloomy night,
Turn we to the Gospel's light:
Thou didst triumph o'er the grave,
Thou wilt all Thy people save;
Ransomed by Thy blood, the just
Rise immortal from the dust.

There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,

But pleasure every way.

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

5 Thy turrets and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles do shine;

Thy very streets are paved with gold,

Surpassing clear and fine.

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.

7 There trees for evermore bear fruit,

And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,

And evermore do sing.

2 When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold;

Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,
And streets of shining gold?

3 There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know;

Blest seats! through rude and stormy scenes

I onward press to you.

4 Why should I shrink from pain and woe,
Or feel at death dismay?
I've Canaan's goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.

5 Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there
Around my Saviour stand;

And soon my friends in Christ below
Will join the glorious band.

6 Jerusalem, my happy home!

My soul still pants for thee:

Then shall my labours have an end,
When I thy joys shall see.