That city, which needeth no light from the sun,
Where the moon sheds her lustre no more,
But where, in the smile of the Crucified One,
Countless myriads bow down and adore.
One by one are the loved ones all gathering there,
In white robes they encircle the throne;
Oh! what bliss to unite where sin cannot blight,
And where parting and death are unknown.
They are come to Mount Zion, the city of God;
They are joined to the glorified throng;