We have heard from the bright, the holy, land;
We
have heard, and our hearts are glad;
For
we were a lonely pilgrim band,
And
weary, and worn, and sad.
They
tell us the saints have a dwelling there--
No
longer are homeless ones;
And
we know that the goodly land is fair,
Where
life's pure river runs.
2
They
say green fields are waving there,
That
never a blight shall know;
And
the desert wild are blooming fair,
And
the roses of Sharon grow.
There
are lovely birds in the bowers green,
Their
songs are blithe and sweet;
And
their warblings gushing ever new,
The
angels’ harpings greet.
3
We
have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns,
And
the silvery band in white;
Of
the city fair, with pearly gates,
All
radiant with light.
We
have heard of the angels therre, and saints,
With
their harps of gold, how they sing;
Of
the mount with the fruitful tree of life,
Of
the leaves that healing bring.
4
The
King of that country He is fair,
He’s
the joy and light of the place;
In
His beauty we shall behold Him there,
And
bask in His smiling face.
We’ll
be there, we'll be there in a little while,
We’ll
join the pure and the blest;
We’ll
have the palm, the robe, the crown,
And
forever be at rest.