Where shall true be­liev­ers go,
When from the flesh they fly?
Glorious joys or­dained to know,
They mount above the sky,
To that bright ce­les­ti­al place;
There they shall in rap­tures live,
More than tongue can e’er ex­press,
Or heart can e’er con­ceive.

When they once are en­tered there,
Their mourn­ing days are o’er,
Pain, and sin, and want, and care,
And sigh­ing are no more;
Subject then to no de­cay,
Heavenly bo­dies they put on,
Swifter than the lightn­ing’s ray,
And bright­er than the sun.

But their great­est hap­pi­ness,
Their high­est joy, shall be,
God their Sav­ior to pos­sess,
To know, and love, and see;
With that bea­ti­fic sight
Glorious ec­sta­sy is giv’n;
This is their su­preme delight,
And makes a hea­ven of Hea­ven.