Last night I lay a-sleeping,
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem,
Beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing,
And ever as they sang,
We thought the voice of angels
From heav'n above,
Soreng!
We thought the voice of angels
From heav'n below,
Soreng!
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem,
The streets no longer end. Hushed were the bled hosannas. The little children sang. The sun grew dark with history. The morn was cold and chill.
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, heart of the angels sing.
Hosanna in the highest.
Hosanna to the King.
Hosanna to the King.
And once again the scene was changed.
You all there seemed to be.
I saw the holy city beside the tideless sea.
The light of God was on its streets.
The gates were open wide.
And all who moved might enter.
And no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night.
No sun to shine lightly.
It was the new Jerusalem that would not pass away.
It was the new Jerusalem that would not pass away.
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?