Hail the glorious golden city,
Pictured by the seers of old!
Everlasting light shines o’er it,
Wondrous tales of it are told:
Only righteous men and women
Dwell within its gleaming wall;
Wrong is banished from its borders,
Justice reigns supreme o’er all.

We are builders of that city,
All our joys and all our groans
Help to rear its shining ramparts;
All our lives are building stones:
Whether humble or exalted,
All are called to task divine;
All must aid alike to carry
Forward one sublime design.

And the work that we have builded,
Oft with bleeding hands and tears,
Oft in error, oft in anguish,
Will not perish with our years:
It will live and shine transfigured,
In the final reign of right;
It will pass into the splendors
Of the city of the light.

O holy city, seen of John,
Where Christ the Lamb, doth reign,
Within whose foursquare walls shall come
No night, nor need, nor pain,
And where the tears are wiped from eyes
That shall not weep again.

Hark, how from men whose lives are held
More cheap than merchandise,
From women struggling sore for bread,
From little children’s cries,
There swells the sobbing human plaint
That bids thy walls arise.

O shame to us who rest content
While lust and greed for gain
In street and shop and tenement
Wring gold from human pain,
And bitter lips in blind despair
Cry “Christ hath died in vain!”

Give us, O God, the strength to build
The city that hath stood
Too long a dream, whose laws are love,
Whose crown is servanthood,
And where the sun that shineth is
God’s grace for human good.

Already in the mind of God
That city riseth fair:
Lo, how its splendor challenges
The souls that greatly dare;
Yea, bids us seize the whole of life
And build its glory there.

When my final farewell to the world I have said,
[originally, When mysterious whispers are floating about]
And gladly lie down to my rest;
When softly the watchers shall say, “He is dead,”
And fold my pale hands o’er my breast;
And when, with my glorified vision at last
The walls of “That City” I see,
Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?

Refrain

Be waiting and watching,
Be waiting and watching for me?
Be waiting and watching,
Be waiting and watching for me?

There are little ones glancing about in my path,
In want of a friend and a guide;
There are dear little eyes looking up into mine,
Whose tears might be easily dried.
But Jesus may beckon the children away
In the midst of their grief and their glee?
Will any of them, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any of them, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?

Refrain

There are old and forsaken who linger awhile
In homes which their dearest have left;
And a few gentle words or an action of love
May cheer their sad spirits bereft.
But the Reaper is near to the long standing corn,
The weary will soon be set free?
Will any of them, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any of them, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?

Refrain

Oh, should I be brought there by the bountiful grace
Of Him who delights to forgive,
Though I bless not the weary about in my path,
Pray only for self while I live,
Methinks I should mourn o’er my sinful neglect,
If sorrow in Heaven can be,
Should no one I love, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me!
Should no one I love, at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me!

Refrain