Since I began to serve the Lord,
And to love His blessèd Word,
A child of Heav’n I’ve tried to be,
This world has been no friend to me.

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Although a pilgrim here below,
Where dangers are and sorrows grow,
I have a home in Heav’n above,
I’m going there, I’m going there.

And often when I would do good,
And keep the promise as I should,
I miss the way, and coming short,
It makes me mourn and grieves my heart.

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Sometimes at best I hardly know
Just what to do or where to go,
And when I sing or try to pray,
My Savior seems so far away.

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And then I wait, it is not long
Before He comes in prayer and song,
And when He speaks, O blessèd voice,
It always makes my heart rejoice.

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When trials press upon my soul,
And pierce my heart with grief untold,
I look away to mansions fair,
And often wish that I was there.

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My friends and kindred who have gone,
Are now among that heav’nly throng;
Far, far above this world of tears,
Its changing scenes and rolling years.

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