O city of our God! I fain would rest—
I sigh to gain thy glorious mercy-seat.
3 My garments, travel-worn and stained with dust,
Oft rent by briers and thorns that crowd my way,
Would fain be made, O Lord, my righteousness!
Spotless and white in heaven’s unclouded ray.
4 My eyes are weary looking at the sin,
Impiety, and scorn upon the earth;
O city of our God! within thy walls
All—all are clothed again with thy new birth.