Lyrics

My Lord, in glo­ry reign­ing
Upon the glas­sy sea,
By an­gel hosts sur­round­ed,
Is think­ing still of me.
My heart for joy is danc­ing,
My lamp I trim and clear,
The Bride­groom bids me en­ter
If I but per­sev­ere.

My Lord a land is rul­ing,
The land of pure de­light,
Whence hate and might are ban­ished,
And all is love and light,
What though my lot be low­ly,
What though my way be drear;
’Tis mine, ’tis mine, that kin­gdom,
If I but per­sev­ere.

My Lord a home is build­ing,
A man­sion pass­ing fair,
Of pearl and gold all bur­nished,
Of jew­els, cost­ly, rare;
A home where no­thing lack­eth,
Away with doubt and fear!
’Tis mine, ’Tis mine, that man­sion,
If I but per­sev­ere.

My Lord a song is teach­ing
The an­gel choirs on high;
They strike their harps and cym­bals,
And sound the psal­te­ry.
A song to greet the wan­d’r­er,
Who Heav­en’s gate draws near;
’Tis mine, ’tis mine, the wel­come,
If I but per­sev­ere.