1 O where is the home of the soul to be found?
Who knows its true shelter where comforts abound?
What city of refuge will offer a place
That sin cannot enter, the soul to disgrace?
Nowhere, nowhere do we behold
On earth such a city of blessings untold.

2 So leave this poor earth if that home thou wouldst see,
The home of the sainted from sorrow made free:
Jerusalem, city resplendent in gold,
Wilt thou to the soul all thy beauties unfold?
Truly, truly thou art the goal
Where rest is the portion of every pure soul.

3 How blissful the rest in that city so fair,
Where, dwelling with Jesus, the soul hath no care!
The sounding of harps in those mansions on high
Doth bid the soul welcome to heavenly joy.
Rest, rest, rest, rest, eternal rest,
I long to embrace thee, to be with the blest.