For thee, O dear, dear country

For thee, 0 dear, dear country,
mine eyes their vigils keep;
for very love, beholding
thy happy name, they weep.
The mention of thy glory
is unction to the breast,
and medicine in sickness,
and love and life and rest.

0 one, 0 only mansion!
0 Paradise of joy!
Where tears are ever banished,
and smiles have no alloy;
the Lamb is all thy splendor,
the Crucified thy praise;
his laud and benediction
thy ransomed people raise.

With jasper glow thy bulwarks,
thy streets with emeralds blaze;
the sardius and the topaz
unite in thee their rays;
thine ageless walls are bonded
with amethyst unpriced;
the saints build up thy fabric,
thy cornerstone is Christ.

Thou hast no shore, fair ocean!
Thou hast no time, bright day!
Dear fountain of refreshment
to pilgrims far away!
Upon the Rock of ages
they raise thy holy tower;
thine is the victor's laurel,
and thine the golden dower.

Words: Bernard of Cluny, ca. 1140;
John Mason Neale, 1849, 1858

Music: Meirionydd, Holy Well, Ely Cathedral, Magdalena

Meter: 76 76 D

Website compiled by Steve Benner, 1999-2003.