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 harbor of the saints, O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, no grief, no care, no toil. Thy gardens and thy gallant walks continually are green; there grow such sweet and pleasant flow'rs as nowhere else are seen. There trees forevermore bear fruit and evermore do spring; there evermore the angels sit and evermore do sing. Jerusalem, my happy home, would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, thy joys that I might see!