The Land to Which We Go

Life has ma­ny a plea­sant hour

Many a bright and cloud­less day;

Singing bird and smil­ing flow­er

Scatter sun­beams on our way;

But the sweet­est blos­soms grow

In the land to which we go.

Earth has many a cool re­treat

Many a spot to me­mo­ry dear;

Oft we find our wea­ry feet

Lingering by some fount­ain clear;

Yet the pur­est wa­ters flow

In the land to which we go.

Like a cloud that floats away

Like the early morn­ing dew

Here the fair­est things de­cay

There

are plea­sures ev­er new.

Only joy the heart will know

In the land to which we go.

’Tis the Christ­ian’s pro­mised land;

There is ev­er­last­ing day;

There a Sav­ior’s lov­ing hand

Wipes the mourn­er’s tears away;

Oh! the rap­ture we shall know

In the land to which we go.