The Holy City
by Stephen Adams

Poem by Frederick E. Weatherly

A grand old evocative song, loved since the late 1800’s.

Last night as I lay sleeping there came a vision rare:
I stood in old Jerusalem beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing and ever as they sang
I thought the voice of angels from heav’n in answer rang:
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing
Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to your King!

And then I thought my dream had changed:
the streets no longer rang;
hushed were the glad hosannas
the little children sang.
The sun grew dark with mystery, the morn was cold and chill
as the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, hark how the angels sing:
Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to your King.

And once again the scene was changed,
new earth there seemed to be.
I saw the Holy City beside the tideless sea;
the light of God was on its streets, the gates were opened wide,
and all who would might enter and no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night, nor sun to shine by day:
it was the New Jerusalem which would not pass away.
There was no pain and no more death, no good would pass away.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, sing, for the night is o’er!
Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna forevermore,
Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna forevermore!