Joyfully, joy­ful­ly, on­ward I move,
Bound for the land of bright spir­its above;
Angelic chor­ist­ers sing as I come,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly haste to thy home;
Soon with my pil­grim­age end­ed below;
Home to the land of bright spir­its I go,
Pilgrim and stran­ger no more shall I roam,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly, rest­ing at home.

Friends fond­ly cher­ished have passed on be­fore,
Waiting they watch me ap­proach­ing the shore;
Singing to cheer me through death’s chill­ing gloom,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly haste to thy home;
Sounds of sweet me­lo­dy fall on mine ear;
Harps of the bless­èd, your voic­es I hear!
Rings with the har­mo­ny Hea­ven’s high dome,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly, haste to thy home.

Death with thy wea­pons of war lay me low;
Strike, king of ter­rors, I fear not the blow;
Jesus hath brok­en the bars of the tomb,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly will I go home.
Bright will the morn of eter­ni­ty dawn;
Death shall be ban­ished, his scep­ter be gone;
Joyfully then shall I wit­ness his doom,
Joyfully, joy­ful­ly, safe­ly at home.