Oh, fly away to the better land,
Thou bird of the snowy wing!
Oh, fly away to the blood-washed band,
And hear the songs they sing!

But bear a message from us, O dove,
To that bright and happy throng;
For we have friends whom we dearly love,
Who swell the Conqueror's song.

Oh tell them our hearts are sad and lone,
Our homes not bright as of yore;
For we miss the soft, the soothing tone
Of the friends we loved before.

Oh tell them we sigh for the better land,
For earth has grown sad and chill;
And we long rejoicing with them to stand
On the heights of Zion's hill.

Oh tell them we long to share their rest,
Afar from all earthly strife;
We long to lean on our Saviour's breast,
And roam by the tree of life.

Oh tell them our fondest hopes are there,
For our earthly hopes are o'er;
And we sigh for the land all bright and fair—
We sigh for the deathless shore.

Then fly away to the better land,
Thou bird of the snowy wing!
Oh fly away to the blood-washed band,
And hear the songs they sing.

And then return with the speed of love,
When the night grows dark and chill,
And tell us, oh, tell us, thou white-winged dove!
Do they love, do they love us still?

We know there is One, in that blissful home,
Who loves and remembers us yet;
Though weary and sorrowful now we roam,
We know that he will not forget.

We'll trust him then, the great and the strong;
By his own almighty hand
He'll bring us soon with the blood-washed throng
To the bright, the better land.