We are lit­tle pil­grims,
We are stran­gers here;
Though this world is plea­sant,
Sin is ev­er near.

We’ve a bet­ter coun­try,
Where there is no sin;
Where the sound of sor­row
Never com­eth in.

There are joy and sing­ing,
There, white rai­ment clean;
There the bless­èd Sav­ior
Ever may be seen.

There the Lord will wel­come,
With ex­tend­ed hand,
All His lit­tle pil­grims
To that hap­py land.

So shall we be rea­dy,
When this life is o’er,
To en­joy the glo­ries
Of that heav’n­ly shore.