1 There is a holy city,
A happy world above,
Beyond the starry regions,
Built by the God of love;
An everlasting temple,
And saints arrayed in white,
There serve their great Redeemer,
And dwell with him in light.

2 The meanest child of glory
Outshines the radiant sun:
But who can speak the splendor
Of that eternal throne,
Where Jesus sits exalted
In godlike majesty?
The elders fall before him,
The angels bend the knee.

3 Is this the Man of sorrows,
Who stood at Pilate's bar
Condemned by haughty Herod,
And by his men of war?
He seems a mighty conqueror,
Who spoiled the powers below,
And ransomed many captives
From everlasting woe!

4 The hosts of saints around him
Proclaim his work of grace;
The patriarchs and prophets,
And all the godly race,
Who speak of fiery trials
And tortures on their way--
They came from tribulation
To everlasting day.

5 And what shall be my journey,
How long I'll stay below,
Or what shall be my trials,
Are not for me to know;
In every day of trouble,
I'll raise my thoughts on high;
I'll think of the bright temple,
And crowns above the sky.