Look, dear fa­ther, see the an­gels,
As around me now they glide!
They have come, I know, to guide me
Thro’ the Jor­dan’s roll­ing tide;
See you not their gold­en tress­es,
And their trail­ing robes of snow?
Hear you not their rust­ling pin­ions,
And their voic­es sweet and low?
Oh, the an­gels! bless­èd an­gels!
Lovely as the morn­ing star!
They have come, I know, to lead me
To the land that lies afar.

I can see them bend­ing o’er me,
Feel them touch my pal­lid brow,
As the bor­der land I en­ter,
And at Jor­dan’s brink I bow.
Soon they’ll lead me to my Sav­ior,
Soon I’ll clasp His lov­ing hand,
Then, from ev­ery care and sor­row,
Safe I’ll rest in Ca­naan’s land.
Oh, the an­gels! bless­èd an­gels!
Lovely as the morn­ing star!
They have come, I know, to lead me
To the land that lies afar.

Fare you well, dear fa­ther, mo­ther!
When I reach the sin­less shore,
I will watch be­side the ri­ver,
Till the an­gels bring you o’er;
I will be the first to greet you,
When you touch the bloom­ing strand,
I will be the first to wel­come,
When you gain the heav’n­ly land.
For the an­gels, bless­èd an­gels!
Lovely as the morn­ing star!
They will come, I know, to lead you,
To the land that lies afar.