Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/129

 ANONYMOUS

70 The New Jerusalem

Song of Mary the Mother of

"JERUSALEM, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see?

��O happy harbour of the Saints'

O sweet and pleasant soil' In thee no sorrow may be found,

No grief, no care, no toil.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,

There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,

But pleasure every way.

Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds 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.

Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem,

Would God I were in thee' Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might sec!

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