ANONYMOUS

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles do shine ; Thy very streets are paved with gold,

Surpassing clear and fine.

Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem,

Would God I were in thee ! Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see !

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks

Continually are green ; There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

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.

There trees for evermore bear fruit,

And evermore do spring ; There evermore the angels sit,

And evermore do sing.

Our Lady sings Magnificat

With tones surpassing sweet ; And all the virgins bear their part,

Sitting about her feet.

Hierusalem, my happy home,

Would God I were in thee ! Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see !

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