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!