1 O bright, O glorious day! resplendent morn!
With what a beamy lustre dost thou dawn?
What joy pervades my soul, the tribes to see
In pious throngs, dear Salem, visit thee?
2 I too with them will croud thy sacred gate;
To join the joyous tribes I earnest wait;
3 Yes; thee I'll visit thy bright domes arise
In fair proportion, equal with the skies:
Fruitless th' attempt, in numbers to express
Thy lofry tow'rs and stately palaces.
4 Approach thy gates on this appointed day
The faithful tribes, their stated vows to pay,
Their annual rites t' observe; in tuneful lays,
In rapt'rous hymns, to sing Jehovah's praise.
5 In thee hath judgment fix'd her awful seat;
Thee has Jessides made his blest retreat;
From his high throne he hears the orphan's cause,
Condemns oppression, and supports the laws.
6 O favour'd city! long may downy peace,
May ev'ry joy, thy happy people bless!
May heav'n it's choicest gifts on thee bestow;
Around thy plains eternal plenty flow!
May that dread pow'r, who long thy sacred hill
Hath chose for his abode, protect thee still.