Daily, daily, sing the praises
Of the city God hath made;
In the beauteous fields of Eden
Its foundation stones are laid.

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O that I had wings of angels,
Here to spread and heavenward fly!
I would seek the gates of Zion,
Far beyond the starry sky.

All the walls of that dear city
Are of bright and burnished gold;
It is matchless in its beauty,
And its treasures are untold.

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In the midst of that dear city
Christ is reigning on His seat,
And the angels swing their censers
In a ring about His feet.

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From the throne a river issues,
Clear as crystal, passing bright,
And it traverses the city
Like a sudden beam of light.

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There the forests ever blossom,
Like our orchards here in May;
There the gardens never wither,
But eternally are gay.

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There the meadows green and dewy
Shine with lilies wondrous fair;
Thousand, thousand, are the colors
Of the waving flowers there.

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There the wind is sweetly fragrant,
And is laden with the song
Of the seraphs, and the elders,
And the great redeemèd throng.

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O I would my ears were open
Here to catch that happy strain!
O I would my eyes some vision
Of that Eden would attain!

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