How vain is all beneath the skies!

How transient every earthly bliss!

How slender all the fondest ties

That bind us to a world like this!

2 The evening cloud, the morning dew,

The withering grass, the fading flower,

Of earthly hopes are emblems true,

The glory of a passing hour.

Stand up, my soul, shake off thy fears,

And gird the gospel armor on;

March to the gates of endless joy,

Where Jesus, the great Captain’s gone.

2 Hell and thy sins resist thy course;

But hell and sin are vanquished foes;

Thy Saviour nailed them to the cross,

And sung the triumph when he rose.

3 Then let my soul march boldly on,

Press forward to the heavenly gate;

There peace and joy eternal reign,

And glittering robes for conquerors wait.

4 There shall I wear a starry crown,

And triumph in almighty grace,

While all the armies of the skies

Join in my glorious Leader’s praise.

There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign,

Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.

2 There everlasting spring abides,

And never withering flowers;

Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heavenly land from ours.

Far from these narrow scenes of night,

Unbounded glories rise;

And realms of infinite delight,

Unknown to mortal eyes.

2 Celestial land! could our weak eyes

But half thy charms explore,

How would our spirits long to rise;

And dwell on earth no more:

3 There pain and sickness never come,

And grief no place obtains;

Health triumphs in immortal bloom,

And endless pleasure reigns!

4 No cloud these blissful regions know,

For ever bright and fair!

For sin, the source of every woe,

Can never enter there.

Hail, sweetest, dearest tie, that binds

Our glowing hearts in one;

Hail, sacred hope, that tunes our minds

To harmony divine.

It is the hope, the blissful hope,

Which Jesus’ grace has given—

The hope, when days and years are past,

We all shall meet in heaven.

2 What though the northern wintry blast

Shall howl around our cot;

What though beneath an eastern sun

Be cast our distant lot;

Yet still we share the blissful hope,

Which Jesus’ grace has given—

The hope, when days and years are past,

We all shall meet in heaven.

3 From eastern shores, from northern lands,

From western hill and plain,

From southern climes, the brother-bands

May hope to meet again;

It is the hope, the blissful hope,

Which Jesus’ grace has given—

The hope, when life and time are o’er,

We all shall meet in heaven.

4 From Burmah’s shores, from Afric’s strand,

From India’s burning plain,

From Europe, from Columbia’s land,

We hope to meet again;

It is the hope, the blissful hope,

Which Jesus’ grace has given—

The hope, when days and years are past,

We all shall meet in heaven.

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,

And cast a wishful eye

To Canaan’s fair and happy land,

Where my possessions lie.

2 O the transporting, rapturous scene,

That rises to my sight!

Sweet fields arrayed in living green,

And rivers of delight!

3 There generous fruits that never fail

On trees immortal grow;

There rocks and hills, and brooks and vales,

With milk and honey flow.

4 All o’er these wide, extended plains,

Shines one eternal day;

There God, the Son, for ever reigns,

And scatters night away.

5 No chilling winds nor poisonous breath

Can reach that healthful shore;

Sickness and sorrow, pain and death,

Are felt and feared no more.

6 When shall I reach that happy place,

And be for ever blest!

When shall I see my Father’s face,

And in his bosom rest!

When musing sorrow weeps the past,

And mourns the present pain,

’Tis sweet to think of peace at last,

And feel that death is gain.

2 ’Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,

And dread a Father’s will;

’Tis not that meek submission flies,

And would not suffer still.

3 It is that heaven-born faith surveys

The path that leads to light,

And longs her eagle plumes to raise,

And lose herself in sight.

4 It is that troubled conscience feels

The pangs of struggling sin,

And sees, though far, the hand that heals,

And ends the strife within.

5 O, let me wing my hallowed flight

From earth-born woe and care,

And soar above these clouds of night,

My Saviour’s bliss to share.

O there’s a better world on high;

Hope on, thou pious breast;

Faint not, thou traveler; on the sky

Thy weary feet shall rest.

2 Anguish may rend each vital part;

Poor man, thy strength how frail!

Yet heaven’s own strength shall shield thy heart,

When flesh and heart shall fail.

Since I can read my title clear

To mansions in the skies,

I bid farewell to every fear,

And wipe my weeping eyes.

2 Should earth against my soul engage,

And fiery darts be hurled,

Then I would smile at Satan’s rage,

And face a frowning world.

3 Let cares, like a wild deluge, come,

And storms of sorrow fall,

May I but safely reach my home,

My God, my heaven, my all.

4 There shall I bathe my weary soul

In seas of heavenly rest;

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

When reft of all, and hopeless care

Would sink us to the tomb,

What power shall save us from despair,

What dissipate the gloom?

My soul! triumphant in the Lord,

Proclaim thy joys abroad,

And march with holy vigor on,

Supported by thy God.

2 Through every winding maze of life,

His hand has been my guide;

And in his long-experienced care,

My heart shall still confide.

3 His grace through all the desert flows,

An unexhausted stream;

That grace, on Zion’s sacred mount,

Shall be my endless theme.

4 Beyond the choicest joys of time,

Thy courts on earth I love;

But O! I burn with strong desire

To view thy house above.

5 There, joined with all the shining band,

My soul would thee adore;

A pillar in thy temple fixed,

To be removed no more.