Sweet place; sweet place alone!
The court of God most high,
The heaven of heavens, the throne
Of spotless majesty!
The stranger homeward bends,
And sigheth for his rest:
Heaven is my home, my friends
Lodge there in Abraham's breast.
Earth's but a sorry tent,
Pitched but a few frail days,
A short leased tenement;
Heaven's still my song, my praise.
No tears from any eyes
Drop in that holy choir:
But death itself there dies,
And sighs themselves expire.
There should temptations cease,
My frailties there should end.
There should I rest in peace
In the arms of my best friend.
Jerusalem on high
My song and city is,
My home whene'er I die,
The center of my bliss.
Thy walls, sweet city! thine
With pearls are garnished,
Thy gates with praises shine,
Thy streets with gold are spread.
No sun by day shines there,
No moon by silent night.
O no! these needless are;
The Lamb's the city's light.
There dwells my Lord, my King,
Judged here unfit to live;
There angels to Him sing,
And lowly homage give.
The patriarchs of old
There from their travels cease:
The prophets there behold
Their longed for Prince of peace.
The Lamb's apostles there
I might with joy behold:
The harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold.
The bleeding martyrs, they
Within those courts are found;
All clothed in pure array,
Their scars with glory crowned.
Ah me! ah me! that I
In Kedar's tents here stay;
No place like this on high;
Thither, Lord! guide my way.
Samuel Crossman (1623--1683)
1 comment:
For Jerusalem is a city which forever shines. No clouds, wind, nor rain shall enter there. It is perched upon a hill far obscured from the progression or intrusion of man. The explorers and climbers cannot reach this hill by humanly devised means.
Shall Jerusalem not be seen by those who search for it? Can it be missed by the traveller who moves toward it? It shall stand out like the oasis in the hot burning desert, or the lean-to in a driving storm. Let us seek to find our own Jerusalem while here on earth. For the true Jerusalem awaits us in the morning.
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