There is a land im­mor­tal,
The beau­ti­ful of lands;
Beside the an­cient por­tal
A sen­try grim­ly stands.
He on­ly can un­do it,
And op­en wide the door;
And mor­tals who pass through it,
Are mor­tals ne­ver more.

Refrain

Oh beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful land!
Oh beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful land!
Amid its fields of glo­ry
May we in safe­ty stand.

That glo­ri­ous land is Hea­ven,
And Death the sen­try grim;
The Lord there­fore has giv­en
The op­en­ing keys to him.
And ran­somed spir­its, sigh­ing
And sor­row­ful for sin,
Do pass the gate in dy­ing,
And free­ly en­ter in.

Refrain

Though dark and drear the pas­sage
That leade­th to the gate,
Yet grace comes with the mes­sage,
To souls that watch and wait;
And, at the time ap­point­ed,
A mes­sen­ger comes down,
And leads the Lord’s an­oint­ed
From cross to glo­ry’s crown.

Refrain

Their sighs are lost in sing­ing,
They’re bless­èd in their tears;
Their jour­ney heav’n­ward wing­ing,
They leave to earth their fears.
Death like an an­gel seem­eth—
We wel­come thee, they cry;
Their face with glo­ry beam­eth—
’Tis life for them to die.

Refrain