There’s a holy and beautiful city
Whose builder and ruler is God;
John saw it descending from Heaven,
When Patmos, in exile, he trod;
Its high, massive walls are of jasper,
The city itself is pure gold;
And when my frail tent here is folded,
Mine eyes shall its glory behold.
No heartaches are known in that city,
No teardrops to dampen the eye;
In Heaven, there’s no disappointment,
No storm clouds to darken the sky;
The saints that inhabit the mansions
Will live in contentment of theirs.
Thank God I'm bound for that city
And some day its blessings I’ll share.
In that bright city, pearly white city,
I have a mansion, a harp, and a crown;
Now I am watching, waiting, and longing,
For the white city that’s soon coming down.