1 Jerusalem on high,
My song and city is,
My home whene’er I die,
The center of my bliss;
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

2 There dwells my Lord, my King.
Judged here unfit to live;
There angels to Him sing,
And lowly homage give:
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

3 The patriarchs of old
There from their travels cease;
The prophets there behold
Their longed-for Prince of Peace;
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

4 The Lamb’s apostles there
I might with joy behold,
The harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold;
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

5 The bleeding martyrs, they
Within these courts are found,
Clothéd in pure array,
Their scars with glory crown'd:
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

6 Ah me! ah me! that I
In Kedar’s tent here stay;
No place like that on high;
Lord, thither guide my way:
Oh, happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?