We have heard of that bright, that holy land,

We have heard, and our hearts are glad,

For we are a lonely pilgrim band;

We are weary, and worn, and sad.

They tell us that pilgrims are dwelling there,

No more are they called homeless ones,

And they say that the goodly land is fair,

Where the fountain of life ever runs.

CHORUS.

We’ll be there, we’ll be there in a little while,

And we’ll join with the pure and blest,

We’ll all have the palms, the robes, the crowns,

And we’ll be for ever at rest.

2 We have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns,

Of that silvery band in white,

Of the city fair with its golden gates

All radiant with heavenly light.

We have heard of the angels there, and saints

With their golden harps, how they sing,

And the mount, with the fruitful tree of life,

And the leaves that healing bring.

3 There are beautiful birds in the bowers green,

Their songs are blythe and sweet,

Their warbling gushing ever new,

The angel harpers greet.

We’ll be there, we’ll be there in a little while,

And we’ll join with the pure and blest;

We’ll all have the palms, the robes, the crowns,

And we’ll be for ever at rest.