When we get home to that beau­ti­ful land,
With its beau­ti­ful ci­ty of gold;
When we have passed o’er the ri­ver of death,
And are safe in the hea­ven­ly fold;
Wearisome toil, tri­bu­la­tion and care,
That bur­den our spir­its to­day,
Like as a dream or a sha­dow shall pass—
Shall pass, un­re­turn­ing, away.

Refrain

When we get home, how sweet ’twill be!
When we get home, how sweet ’twill be!

When we get home from our wan­der­ings here
To that clime where they wan­der no more;
When, with the loved that have passed in­to rest,
We shall stand with our harps on the shore;
Sorrow and strife, and our prone­ness to err,
The pain and the sick­ness we bear,
Like as a dream or a sha­dow shall pass,
And ne’er shall they trou­ble us there.

Refrain

When we get home, and it will not be long,
Till we fin­ish our jour­ney be­low;
When we shall lose ev­ery cum­ber­ing weight,
And the sins that doth hin­der us so;
Tears that we shed in our sor­row­ful hours,
The fears and the doubts that mo­lest,
Like as a dream or a sh­adow shall pass,
And reach not the home of the blest.

Refrain