We sing of a land where the servants of God
Shall meet when their journey is o’er,
And clasp their glad hands as they gather at morn,
To labor and sorrow no more.

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We sing of the beautiful mansions of rest
Our Savior has gone to prepare;
And oh, when we think of the bliss they unfold,
In spirit, how oft we are there.

We sing of a land where the leaves never fall,
A land where their bloom never dies;
And Jesus Himself, with His own loving hand,
Will wipe every tear from our eyes.

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We sing of the palms that the conquerors wave,
Who triumphed through Jesus our Lord;
Who fought to the last, and with shouts on their tongues,
Went home to receive their reward.

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We sing of the friends who are waiting today
For us in that region so fair;
But who can describe what a joy it will be
To know that indeed we are there?

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