O that I had wings of angels
Sabine Baring-Gould
Henri F. Hemy
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 redeemed 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!