| Jerusalem is |
| Where the cobblestones |
| Wet with the blood of ages |
| Hear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages — |
| Where the cries of fools stilled the words of sages |
| Oh |
| Jerusalem is |
| 'neath an olive tree branch anyone can listen |
| To the song of songs as the green leaves glisten |
| Then a summer rain falls and the raindrops christen |
| What Jerusalem is |
| And the river runs on and the world keeps turning |
| And the water’s cold |
| Tho the sands are burning |
| And the mountains know while we still are learning |
| What Jerusalem is |
| Oh |
| When will tomorrow’s sons |
| Tomorrow’s daughters |
| Never taste of the bread cast upon the waters |
| And put down the sword that performed the slaughters |
| Where Jerusalem is? |
| Where the cobblestones |
| Wet with the blood of ages |
| Hear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages — |
| Where the cries of fools stilled the words of sages |
| Oh |
| Jerusalem is |
| And the river |
| Oh |
| The river runs and the world keeps turning |
| And the water’s cold |
| Tho the sands are burning |
| And the mountains know while we still are learning |
| What Jerusalem is |
| And the river |
| Oh |
| The river runs and the world keeps turning |