There’s a region above,
Free from sin and temp­ta­tion,
And a man­sion of love
For each heir of sal­va­tion.
Then dis­miss all thy fears,
Weary pil­grim of sor­row;
Though thy sun set in tears,
It will rise bright to­mor­row.

There our toils will be done,
And free grace be our sto­ry;
God Him­self be our sun,
And our un­set­ting glo­ry.
In that world of de­light,
Spring shall ne­ver be end­ed;
Nor shall sha­dows nor night
With its bright­ness be blended.

There shall friends no more part,
Nor shall fare­wells be spok­en;
There’ll be balm for the heart
That with ang­uish was brok­en.
From af­flict­ion set free,
And from God ne’er to se­ver,
We His glo­ry shall see,
And enjoy Him for­ev­er.