That City.

That City.
383.5

You tell me of a city
Which is a bright and fair:
Oh! why do not the friends I love
Talk more of koing there?
I hear them speak of pleasures
Which earthly things have given;
Why do they never mention
The better joys of of heaven?

Chorus-
“A city which hath foundations,
Whore bullder and maker is God”:
Which shineth afar hue a beautiful star, By saints and angels trod.
I think about thaz elty Of which I have been told, Whose gates are made of unining pearl, Whose streets are paved with gold. The firm and strock foundation Is huilt of jewels rare: I’m sure that nothing earthly Can with those walls compare.
Oh dear and blessed city, Could I but enter in, I should be free from every pain, From care, and doubt, and sin.. Oh, let me bear each trial As patient as I may. For soon will all things mortal Forever pass away.