Father, I bless thy gentle hand;

How kind was thy chastising rod,

That forc’d my conscience to a stand,

And brought my wand’ring soul to God.



Foolish and vain, I went astray

Ere I had felt thy scourges, Lord;

I left my guide, and lost my way,

But now I love and keep thy word.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end?

Thy joys when shall I see?

Thy walls are made of precious stones,

Thy bulwarks diamond square;

Thy gates are of right orient pearl,

Exceeding rich and rare.

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles do shine;

Thy very streets are paved with gold,

Surpassing clear and fine.