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 brightest majesty?
The elders fall before Him,
The angels bend the knee.

3 And what shall be my journey,
How long my 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 saints all shining,
And crowns above the sky.