When I cross the shin­ing thresh­old
Of my Fa­ther’s op­en door,
When I hear the white robed cho­rus
Singing, Glo­ry ev­er­more
Unto Him who loved and gave Him­self
A ran­som for all sin;
Then my rap­tured soul will real­ize
How much I owe to Him.
Oh! the beau­ties of that ci­ty
Tongue or pen can ne­ver tell,
But I here may have a fore­taste
Of that land in which all dwell
Who have sought the low­ly Mas­ter
And have fol­lowed where He trod,
And have passed be­yond the ri­ver,
Evermore to be with God.

There all sor­row and all tri­als
Are for­ev­er­more un­known;
From my eyes all tears are ban­ished
By the Lamb up­on the throne;
There the streets of that bright ci­ty
Are all paved with pur­est gold,
And my bless­èd Lord and Mas­ter
Rarest beau­ties will un­fold.
There my loved ones are await­ing
Till I cross the swell­ing tide,
And with them I share the beau­ty
Of my Sav­ior cru­ci­fied;
With this hope that’s set be­fore me,
And a heart from sin set free,
Keep me, Je­sus, ev­er faith­ful,
Till at last Thou call­est me.