Hymn H112

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.