1 Raise thee, my Soul, fly up, and run
Through ev'ry heav'nly Street,
And say, There's nought below the Sun
That's worthy of thy Feet.

[2 Thus will we mount on sacred Wings,
And tread the Courts above;
Nor Earth, nor all her mightiest Things,
Shall tempt our meanest Love.]

3 There, on a high majestic Throne,
Th' Almighty Father reigns,
And sheds his glorious Goodness down
On all the blissful Plains.

4 Bright, like a Sun, the Saviour sits,
And spreads eternal Noon;
No Ev'nings there, nor gloomy Nights,
To want the feeble Moon.

5 Amidst those ever-shining Skies,
Behold the sacred Dove,
While banish'd Sin and Sorrow flies
From all the Realms of Love.

6 The glorious Tenants of the Place
Stand bending round the Throne;
And Saints and Seraphs sing and praise
The infinite Three-One.

[7 But O what Beams of heav'nly Grace
Transport them all the while!
Ten Thousand Smiles from Jesus' Face,
And Love in ev'ry Smile!]

8 Jesus, and when shall that dear Day,
That joyful Hour appear,
When I shall leave this House of Clay,
To dwell amongst 'em there?]