Zion, On The Holy Hills,
God, Thy Maker, Loves Thee Well;
All Thy Courts His Presence Fills,
He Delights In Thee To Dwell.
Wondrous Shall Thy Glory Be,
City Blest Of God, The Lord;
Nations Shall Be Born In Thee,
Unto Life From Death Restored.
When The Lord The Names Shall Write
Of Thy Sons, A Countless Throng,
God Most High Will Thee Requite,
He Himself Will Make Thee Strong.
Then In Song And Joyful Mirth
Shall Thy Ransomed Sons Agree,
Singing Forth Throughout The Earth,
“All My Fountains Are In Thee.”