We Speak of the Realms of the Blest

We speak of the realms of the blest

That coun­try so bright and so fair

And oft are its glo­ries con­fessed—

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its pat­hway of gold—

Its walls decked with jew­els so rare

Its won­ders and plea­sures untold—

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its free­dom from sin

From sor­row

temp­ta­tion and care

From tri­als with­out and with­in—

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its serv­ice of love

Of the robes which the glo­ri­fied wear

Of the church of the First­born ab­ove—

But what must it be to be there!

Our mourn­ing is all at an end

When

raised by the life-giv­ing word

We see the new ci­ty des­cend

Adorned as a bride for her Lord;

The ci­ty so ho­ly and clean

No sor­row can breathe in the air;

No gloom of af­flict­ion or sin

No sha­dow of ev­il

is there.

Do Thou

midst temp­ta­tion and woe

For Heav­en my spir­it pre­pare;

And short­ly I also shall know

And feel what it is to be there.

Then o’er the bright fields we shall roam

In glo­ry ce­les­ti­al and fair

With saints and with an­gels at home

And Je­sus Him­self will be there.