Yes, we’ll meet again in the morn­ing,
In the dawn of a fair­er day;
When the night of watch­ing and wait­ing,
With its dark­ness has passed away.
Where no sha­dows veil the sun­shine,
Over there in the heav’n­ly land,
And the crys­tal waves of the ri­ver,
Ever flow o’er the gold­en sand.

Where our pre­cious ones now are dwell­ing,
Free from toil and from ev­ery care;
With their gar­ments spot­less and shin­ing,
Like the robes that the an­gels wear.
When our pil­grim­age com­plet­ed,
And our foot­steps no long­er roam,
By the pear­ly gates glad­ly wait­ing,
They will give us a wel­come home.

O what joy when all shall be ov­er,
And the jour­ney on earth we close,
And the an­gels home­ward shall bear us,
Where the life-stream for­ev­er flows.
We shall see the King of glo­ry,
We shall praise Him with harp and voice;
We shall sing the grace that re­deemed us,
While our hearts in His love re­joice.