21
Mud there smears not, dirt appears not,
No diseases do we meet.
Winter braming, summer flaming,
There relax their blustering,
And sweet roses ever blooming
Make an everlasting spring,
Lily blanching, crocus blushing,
And the balsam perfuming.
Pasture growing, meadows blowing,
Honey streams in rivers fair,
While with aromatic perfume
Grateful glows the balmy air;
Luscious fruits that never wither
Hang in every thicket there.
There nor waxing moon, nor waning,
Sun, nor stars in courses bright;
For the Lamb to that glad city
Shines an everlasting light.
There the daylight beams for ever,
All unknown are time and night.
For the Saints, in beauty beaming,
Shine in light and glory pure,
Crowned in triumph's flushing honours,
