No earthly city can compare
With Zion, when her Lord is there!
Her gifts like golden turrets rise;
Her fervent graces melt the skies;

Her stately walls are girt with pow'r;
Safety and strength compose her tow'r;
Firm on a rock her palace stands,
The glory of the Builder's hands.

A river, full of peace and love,
For ever flowing from above,
Makes her inhabitants rejoice,
And tunes with praise each mourner's voice

Here all the graces live and reign—
A fruitful and a glorious train!
Their happy influence shed abroad,
And point us to their Author—God.

Faith, like an eagle from her nest,
Mounts up in search of heav'nly rest;
And love, like incense from a fire,
Ascends in flames of strong desire.

Patience, that long enduring, still
Submissive waits Jehovah's will;
And lively hope, that lifts her head
Beyond the regions of the dead.

Here all the heav'n-born sons of grace
Proclaim the King of Zion's praise,
Whose precious name from ev'ry tongue
Flows on in one delightful song.