text: Isaac Watts

How long, dear Savior! O how long
Shall this bright hour delay?
Fly swifter round, ye wheels of time,
And bring the promised day.

From the third heav'n, where God resides,
That holy, happy place,
The new Jerusalem comes down,
Adorned with shining grace.

The God of glory down to men;
Removes his blest abode;
Men, the dear object of his grace,
And he the living God.