And the deserts wild are blooming fair,
And the roses of Sharon grow.
There are lovely birds in the bowers green,
Their songs are blithe and sweet;
And their warblings, gushing ever new,
The angels' harpings greet.
We have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns,
And the silvery band in white;
Of the city fair, with pearly gates,
All radiant with light;