1 Jerusalem my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end? Thy joys when shall I see? 2 O happy harbor of the saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. 3 Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are of right orient pearl; Exceeding rich and rare; 4 Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green: There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. 5 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. 6 Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall, Our pleasure is but pain: Our joys scarce last the looking on, Our sorrows still remain. 7 But there they live in such delight, Such pleasure and such play, As that to them a thousand years Doth seem as yesterday. 8 Jerusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end Thy joys that I might see!