O House of Many Mansions

O house of ma­ny man­sions

Thy doors are op­en wide

And dear are all the fac­es

Upon the oth­er side.

Thy por­tals they are gold­en

And those who en­ter in

Shall know no more of sor­row

Of wea­ri­ness and sin.

O house of ma­ny man­sions

Thy doors are op­en wide

And dear are all the fac­es

Upon the oth­er side.

O house of ma­ny man­sions

My wea­ry spir­it waits

And longs to join the ran­somed

Within thy pear­ly gates;

Who en­ter through thy por­tals

The man­sions of the blest;

Who come to thee a-weary

And find in thee their rest.

O house of ma­ny man­sions

O house not made with hands

I sigh for thee while wait­ing

Within these bo­rder lands.

I know that but in dy­ing

The thresh­old is cross­ed o’er;

There shall be no more sor­row

In thee for­ev­er­more.