There is a bless­èd home,
Beyond this land of woe,
Where tri­als ne­ver come,
Nor tears of sor­row flow;
Where faith is lost in sight,
And pa­tient hope is crowned,
And ev­er­last­ing light
Its glo­ry throws around.

There is a land of peace,
Good an­gels know it well;
Glad songs that ne­ver cease
Within its por­tals swell;
Around its glo­ri­ous throne
Ten thou­sand saints adore
Christ, with the Fa­ther One,
And Spir­it, ev­er­more.

O joy all joys be­yond,
To see the Lamb who died,
And count each sac­red wound
In hands, and feet, and side;
To give to Him the praise
Of ev­ery tri­umph won,
And sing through end­less days
The great things He hath done.

Look up, ye saints of God,
Nor fear to tread be­low
The path your Sav­ior trod
Of dai­ly toil and woe;
Wait but a lit­tle while
In un­com­plain­ing love
His own most gra­cious smile
Shall wel­come you above.