HERE is a city, children,

Above the clouds, we're told,

Where the rocky Andes wrap their heads

In snows eternal and cold.

A mountain is its foundation;

Its steeples, the lofty spires

Of tall peaks, dressed in snowy robes,

With veins of volcanic fire.

Its dwellings are built of


With walls made firm and wide;

And all unnoticed the storm may rage

Below on the mountainside.

But deep in the mountain's bosom

Entombed in the rocky cell,

Are struggling fires whose thunders loud

Of ominous dangers tell;

As oft in their struggle for freedom

They knock at their prison bars,

Till the hard walls quiver beneath the strokes,

And the mountain heaves and jars.

And the children of lofty Quito,

Their faces pale with woe,

In terror gaze on their trembling homes

And the rocking earth below.


Far, far above earthly vision

And the hills by mortals trod,

Above the storms and above the clouds,

Is builded the City of God;

Its foundation, the fair Mount Zion,

Glittering with jewels bright, -

While above, the pure and jasper walls

Reflect all their dazzling light.

Twelve are the pearly portals

Which ope to a lovelier scene,—

The golden walks, the Tree of Life,

And the River that rolls between.

There are the "many mansions"

Of workmanship divine,

Over whose latticed porches wide

Immortal flowers twine.

Shadows and darkness forever

Are chased from that city away;

For God's throne of glory that

city crowns,

And the Lamb is its lasting day.

Fullness of joys eternal

Its children shall ever know,

When they gather at last in those dwellings fair,

While their songs of praise shall flow

In one long chorus of rapture

To Him who led the way

Their feet have trod to the Mount of God

And the city of endless day.