There Is a Land of Pure Delight

There is a land of pure de­light

Where saints im­mor­tal reign;

Infinite day ex­cludes the night

And plea­sures ban­ish pain.

There ev­er­last­ing spring abides

And nev­er wi­ther­ing flow­ers:

Death

like a nar­row sea

di­vides

This heav’n­ly land from ours.

Sweet fields be­yond the swell­ing flood

Stand dressed in liv­ing green:

So to the Jews old Ca­naan stood

While Jor­dan rolled be­tween.

But ti­mo­rous mor­tals start and shrink

To cross this nar­row sea;

And lin­ger

shi­ver­ing on the brink

And fear to launch away.

O! Could we make our doubts re­move

Those gloomy thoughts that rise

And see the Ca­naan that we love

With un­be­cloud­ed eyes!

Could we but climb where Mos­es stood

And view the land­scape o’er

Not Jor­dan’s stream

nor death’s cold flood

Should fright us from the shore.