1 Zion, on the holy hills,
God, thy Maker, loves thee well;
All thy courts His presence fills,
He delights in thee to dwell.
Wondrous shall thy glory be,
City blest of God, the Lord;
Nations shall be born in thee,
Unto life from death restored.
2 When the Lord the names shall write
Of thy sons, a countless throng,
God Most High will thee requite,
He Himself will make thee strong.
Then in song and joyful mirth
Shall thy ransomed sons agree,
Singing forth throughout the earth:
"All my fountains are in thee."