Jerusalem - Anúna, Michael McGlynn

Jerusalem, our happy home

When shall we come to thee?

When shall our sorrows have an end?

Thy joys when shall we see?

They see no one that sent her there

Their palms spring from the ground

No tongue can tell, no heart can think

What joys do there abound

Forever more the trees bear fruit

And ever more they spring

And ever more the saints are glad

And ever more they sing

Fair Magdalene, she hath less moan

Likewise there she doth sing

The happy saints in harmony

Through every street doth ring

Fair Magdalene hath dried her tears

She’s seen no more to weep

Nor wet the ringlets of her hair

To wipe her savior’s feet