We sing of a land
Where the ser­vants of God
Shall meet when their jour­ney is o’er,
And clasp their glad hands
As they ga­ther at morn,
To la­bor and sor­row no more.

Refrain

We sing of the beau­ti­ful
Mansions of rest
Our Sav­ior has gone to pre­pare;
And oh, when we think
Of the bliss they un­fold,
In spir­it, how oft we are there.

We sing of a land
Where the leaves ne­ver fall,
A land where their bloom ne­ver dies;
And Je­sus Him­self,
With His own lov­ing hand,
Will wipe ev­ery tear from our eyes.

Refrain

We sing of the palms
That the con­quer­ors wave,
Who tri­umphed through Je­sus our Lord;
Who fought to the last,
And with shouts on their tongues,
Went home to re­ceive their re­ward.

Refrain

We sing of the friends
Who are wait­ing to­day
For us in that re­gion so fair;
But who can des­cribe
What a joy it will be
To know that in­deed we are there?

Refrain