With Gladsome Feet We Press
With gladsome feet we press to Sion’s holy mount,
Where gushes from its deep recess the cooling fount;
Oh! happy, happy hill, the joy of every saint!
With sweet Siloam’s crystal rill, that cheers the faint.
Great city, blest of God! Jerusalem the free!
With ceaseless step the path be trod that leads to thee!
The martyr’s bleeding feet, the saints with woundless breast,
Alike have sought thy golden seat to win their rest.
There, calming all alarms, thy cross of love is traced,
Outstretching salutary arms, to bless the waste;
The sinner there can plead in ever listening ears;
On hope and thee, can sweetly feed, and dry his tears.
So this our festal day celestial joy shall raise,
While lips and hearts, conjoined, essay to hymn thy praise!
The very stones shall ring, resound each holy wall,
With Thee, Thyself the rock, our heaven, our all!