Beyond the valley lying low,
Through which our feet some day shall go—
Beyond the hill’s so purple haze,
That stretches far beyond our gaze—
There is a place, so happily blest,
Which here we call The Land of Rest.
A land with hills and valleys fair,
And many of our loved are there;
So silently, and one by one
They went the lonesome journey on;
All, folded hands upon their breast,
Went out into The Land of Rest.
I long that happy bourne to see,
I long to know how it will be,
When first these eyes of mine behold
The land of which the prophets told.
Of my inheritance possessed,
When shall I reach The Land of Rest?
O blessèd land! O time so slow!
Not with reluctance I shall go,
But on my lips a happy song,
That it, the day looked for so long,
Has come to take me to that blest—
That peaceful land, The Land of Rest.