There is a holy city,
A happy world above,
Beyond the starry regions,
Built by the God of love.
An everlasting temple,
And saints arrayed in white;
They serve their great Redeemer,
And dwell with Him in light.

It is no world of trouble,
The God of peace is there,
He wipes away their sorrows,
He banishes their care;
Their joys are still increasing,
Their songs are ever new;
They praise th’eternal Father,
The Son and Spirit, too.

Is this the Man of sorrows
Who stood at Pilate’s bar,
Contemned by haughty Herod,
And by his men of war?
He seems a mighty conqu’ror,
Who spoiled the pow’rs below,
And ransomed many captives
From everlasting woe.

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