|Behold! the mountain of the Lord,|
In latter days shall rise
On mountain tops, above the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.
To this the joyful nations round,
All tribes and tongues shall flow;
Up to the hill of God, they'll say,
and to His house we'll go.
No strife shall rage, nor hostile feud,
Disturb those peaceful years;
To ploughshares men shall beat their swords,
To pruninghooks their spears.
No longer host encountering host
Shall crowds of slain deplore:
they'll hang the trumpet in the hall,
And study war no more.
The beams that shine from Zion's hill,
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Salem's towers,
Shall all the world command.