Life has ma­ny a plea­sant hour,
Many a bright and cloud­less day;
Singing bird and smil­ing flow­er,
Scatter sun­beams on our way;
But the sweet­est blos­soms grow
In the land to which we go.

Earth has many a cool re­treat,
Many a spot to me­mo­ry dear;
Oft we find our wea­ry feet
Lingering by some fount­ain clear;
Yet the pur­est wa­ters flow
In the land to which we go.

Like a cloud that floats away,
Like the early morn­ing dew,
Here the fair­est things de­cay,
There, are plea­sures ev­er new.
Only joy the heart will know
In the land to which we go.

’Tis the Chris­tian’s pro­mised land;
There is ev­er­last­ing day;
There a Sav­ior’s lov­ing hand
Wipes the mourn­er’s tears away;
Oh! the rap­ture we shall know
In the land to which we go.