Now rest, ye pil­grim host,
Look back up­on your way,
The mount­ains climbed,
The tor­rents crossed,
Through ma­ny a wea­ry day.
From this vic­to­ri­ous height,
How fair the past ap­pears,
God’s grace and glo­ry shin­ing bright
On all the by­gone years.

How ma­ny, at His call,
Have part­ed from our throng!
They watch us from the crys­tal wall,
And ec­ho back our song.
They rest, be­yond complaints,
Beyond all sighs and tears:
Praise be to God for all His saints
Who wrought in by­gone years.

The ban­ners they up­bore
Our hands still lift on high;
The Lord they fol­lowed ev­er­more
To us is al­so nigh.
Arise, arise and tread the fu­ture
Without fears;
He lead­eth still, whose hand hath led
Through all the by­gone years.

When we have reached the home
We seek with wea­ry feet,
Our child­ren’s child­ren still shall come
To keep those ranks com­plete;
And He, whose host is one
Throughout the count­less spheres,
Will guide His march­ing ser­vants on
Through ev­er­last­ing years.