The Lord shall comfort Zion,
Her places waste restore,
And, of her silent wilderness,
Make Eden bloom once more;
His garden shall she then become,
And worthy of his choice,
Gladness and thanks in all her smiles,
And music in her voice.

Thou, too, shalt wake, Jerusalem,
No longer drunk with wine,
With none to guide thy tott’ring steps;—
He makes this promise thine!
The cup of trembling from thy lips,
That made his love deplore,
His anger, stay’d, his mercy takes,
And thou shalt drink no more!

Like smoke, the skies shall vanish,
And Earth grow black with years,
Man, too, shall wither, in his walks,
A thing of age and fears;—
But Zion’s promise still shall stand,
A type for age to show,
Who seeks for God, in faith and love,
Nor age, nor death, shall know.