The Glorious Prospect

Amid the hours that ra­pid fly

Amid the flow’rs that soon must die;

Amid our tears while here we roam

How sweet the thought we’re go­ing home.

Going home

go­ing home

How sweet the thought we’re go­ing home.

We’re go­ing home with saints to dwell

Where an­gel hosts their chor­us swell

To join the glor­ious ran­somed band

Who stand in bliss at God’s right hand.

We’ll cling to Jesus in the hour

When sin and Sa­tan use their pow­er

And mur­mur not when sor­rows come

For by and by we’re go­ing home.

No dy­ing groans shall there be heard

And we shall speak no part­ing word;

O

sin­ner

to our Sav­ior come

And join the band that’s goi­ng home.