I Have Read Of A Wonderful City On High

I have read of a wonderful City on high,
Where the saints gather home to the Lord in the sky;
Twelve gates made of pearls ever open, we are told.
To that wonderful City that never grows old.

While the years roll on,
While the years roll on,
In that land beyond the tomb,
Where the saints shall gather home,
While the years roll on.

Our saved ones we soon in that City shall meet,
Where the old men, like children, shall play in the street,
Where we’ll all sing and play on harps of pure gold,
The only song written that never grows old. [Chorus]

In that City our feet shall be sandaled with light;
Our robes, washed in blood, shall be dazzling and white;
Though fashions never change, like the Hebrews twill hold,
That our sandals and garments will never grow old. [Chorus]

In that City of life where live the redeemed,
Is the strange tree that grows on both sides of the stream;
Twelve times a year twelve kinds of fruit feed the soul
With ever fresh manna that never grows old. [Chorus]

Life is reckoned down here by youth, man, or age;
We order a bier for the child or the sage;
But they never die there in that City, we are told,
But live on forever, yet never grow old. [Chorus]