O land of the blessèd! thy sha­dow­less skies
Sometimes in my dream­ing I see;
I hear the glad songs that the glo­ri­fied sing
Steal ov­er eter­ni­ty’s sea;
Though dark are the sha­dows that ga­ther between,
I know that thy morn­ing is fair;
I catch but a glimpse of thy glo­ry and light,
And whis­per: Would God I were there!

O land of the blessèd! thy hills of de­light
Sometimes to my vi­sion un­fold;
Thy man­sions ce­les­ti­al, thy pa­lac­es bright,
Thy bul­warks of jas­per and gold;
Dear voic­es are chant­ing thy cho­rus of praise,
Their forms in thy sun­light are fair;
I look from the val­ley of sha­dows below,
And whis­per: Would God I were there!

Dear home of my Fa­ther, thou ci­ty of peace,
No sha­dow of chang­ing can mar;
How glad are the souls that have tast­ed thy joy!
How blest thine in­ha­bi­tants are!
When wea­ry of toil­ing, I think of the day—
Who knows if its dawn­ing be near—
When He who doth love me shall call me away
From all that hath bur­dened me here.