Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
VII. Death: Immortality: HeavenThe New Jerusalem
AnonymousO
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end—
Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of God’s saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrows can be found—
No grief, no care, no toil.
No hurt, nor any sore;
There is no death nor ugly night,
But life for evermore.
No dimming cloud o’ershadows thee,
No cloud nor darksome night,
But every soul shines as the sun—
For God himself gives light.
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat,
But pleasures every way.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Would God I were in thee!
Oh! that my sorrows had an end,
Thy joys that I might see!
No woful night is there;
No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard—
No well-away, no fear.
Jerusalem the city is
Of God our king alone;
The Lamb of God, the light thereof,
Sits there upon His throne.
With speed may go behold!
For why? the pleasures there abound
Which here cannot be told.
Thy turrets and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles do shine—
With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite,
Surpassing pure and fine.
Thy windows crystal clear,
Thy streets are laid with beaten gold—
There angels do appear.
Thy walls are made of precious stone,
Thy bulwarks diamond square,
Thy gates are made of orient pearl—
O God! if I were there!
That is not passing clean;
No spider’s web, no dirt, nor dust,
No filth may there be seen.
Jehovah, Lord, now come away,
And end my griefs and plaints—
Take me to Thy Jerusalem,
And place me with Thy saints!
And see God face to face,
They triumph still, and aye rejoice—
Most happy is their case.
But we that are in banishment,
Continually do moan;
We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weep—
Perpetually we groan.
Our pleasures are but pain,
Our joys not worth the looking on—
Our sorrows aye remain.
But there they live in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play,
That unto them a thousand years
Seems but as yesterday.
Thy joys when shall I see—
The King sitting upon His throne,
And thy felicity?
Thy vineyards, and thy orchards,
So wonderfully rare,
Are furnished with all kinds of fruit,
Most beautifully fair.
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.
There cinnamon and sugar grow,
There nard and balm abound;
No tongue can tell, no heart can think,
The pleasures there are found.
There music ’s ever sweet;
There many a fair and dainty thing
Are trod down under feet.
Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound,
The flood of life doth flow;
Upon the banks, on every side,
The trees of life do grow.
For evermore they spring;
And all the nations of the world
To thee their honors bring.
Jerusalem, God’s dwelling-place,
Full sore I long to see;
Oh! that my sorrows had an end,
That I might dwell in thee!
As master of the choir;
A thousand times that man were blest
That might his music hear.
There Mary sings “Magnificat,”
With tunes surpassing sweet;
And all the virgins bear their part,
Singing around her feet.
Saint Austin doth the like;
Old Simeon and Zacharie
Have not their songs to seek.
There Magdalene hath left her moan,
And cheerfully doth sing,
With all blest saints whose harmony
Through every street doth ring.
Thy joys fain would I see;
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
And take me home to Thee;
Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead,
And take me hence away,
That I may dwell with Thee in bliss,
And sing Thy praises aye.
Jehovah’s throne on high!
O sacred city, queen, and wife
Of Christ eternally!
O comely queen with glory clad,
With honor and degree,
All fair thou art, exceeding bright—
No spot there is in thee!
The comfort of us all;
For thou art fair and beautiful—
None ill can thee befall.
In thee, Jerusalem, I say,
No darkness dare appear—
No night, no shade, no winter foul—
No time doth alter there.
No glittering star to light;
For Christ, the king of righteousness,
For ever shineth bright.
A lamb unspotted, white and pure,
To thee doth stand in lieu
Of light—so great the glory is
Thine heavenly king to view.
In midst His servants’ sight:
And they, His happy household all,
Do serve Him day and night.
There, there the choir of angels sing—
There the supernal sort
Of citizens, which hence are rid
From dangers deep, do sport.
The apostles six and six,
The glorious martyrs in a row,
And confessors betwixt.
There doth the crew of righteous men
And matrons all consist—
Young men and maids that here on earth
Their pleasures did resist.
The snare of death and hell,
Triumph in joy eternally,
Whereof no tongue can tell;
And though the glory of each one
Doth differ in degree,
Yet is the joy of all alike
And common, as we see.
And Christ is all in all,
Whom they most perfectly behold
In joy celestial.
They love, they praise—they praise, they love;
They “Holy, holy,” cry;
They neither toil, nor faint, nor end,
But laud continually.
If, after wretched days,
I might with listening ears conceive
Those heavenly songs of praise,
Which to the eternal king are sung
By happy wights above—
By savèd souls and angels sweet,
Who love the God of love.
Might I be worthy found
To wait upon my God and king,
His praises there to sound;
And to enjoy my Christ above,
His favor and His grace,
According to His promise made,
Which here I interlace:
Which Thou hast put of old
To me, be there where lo! I am—
Thy glory to behold;
Which I with Thee, before the world
Was made in perfect wise,
Have had—from whence the fountain great
Of glory doth arise.”
Thee, let him follow me;
For where I am, he there, right sure,
Then shall my servant be.”
And still: “If any man loves me,
Him loves my Father dear,
Whom I do love—to him myself
In glory will appear.”
That then I may be bold
With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem,
Thy glory to behold;
And so in Zion see my king,
My love, my Lord, my all—
Where now as in a glass I see,
There face to face I shall.
Their sovereign they shall see;
O ye most happy, heavenly wights,
Which of God’s household be!
O Lord, with speed dissolve my bands,
These gins and fetters strong;
For I have dwelt within the tents
Of Kedar over long.
Fetch me Thy fold unto,
That all Thy angels may rejoice,
While all Thy will I do.
O mother dear! Jerusalem!
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see?
To quit me from all strife,
That to Thy hill I may attain,
And dwell there all my life—
With cherubim and seraphim
And holy souls of men,
To sing Thy praise, O God of hosts!
Forever and amen!