O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat!

What heaven is this that opens at my feet?

What flocks are these that thro' the golden gleam

Stray on by freckled fields and shining stream?

What glittering roofs and white kiosks are these,

Up-peeping from the shade of emerald trees?

Whose City is this that rises on the sight

Fair and fantastic as a city of light

Seen in the sunset? What is yonder sea

Opening beyond the City cool and free.

Large, deep, and luminous, looming thro' the heat.

And lying at the darkly shadowed feet

Of the Sierrasy which with jagged line

Burning to amber in the light divine,

Close in the Valley of the happy land,

With heights as barren as a dead man's hand?

O pilgrim, halt! O wandering heart, give praise

Behold the City of these Latter Days!

Here may'st thou leave thy load and be forgiven,

And in anticipation taste of Heaven!