Someone will knock at the saints’ bright home,
And hear the Lord say­ing, You can not come;
With sad­ness he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state;
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
With sad­ness he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state;
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.

Someone will hear the an­gels’ song,
And wish he could join with the hap­py throng;
With sigh­ings he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
With sigh­ings he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.

Someone will stand with an ach­ing heart,
While Je­sus pro­nounc­es the word, depart;
With groan­ings he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
With groan­ings he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.

Someone will lin­ger with tear­ful eyes,
While Christ and His peo­ple as­cend the skies;
With weep­ing he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate,
With weep­ing he’ll mourn
O’er his sor­row­ful state,
Turned away from the beau­ti­ful gate.