Lo, far in the realms of Missouri,
When peace crowns the meek and the lowly,
The loud storms of envy and folly
May roll all their billows in vain.

The wicked, with evil intention,
May rouse all their powers of invention,
With lying, intrigue and contention,
Their end will be sorrow and pain.

The saints, crowned with songs of rejoicing,
To Zion shall flow from all nations,
Escaping the great conflagration,
They find out the regions of peace.

Though scattered and driven asunder.
As exiles and pilgrims to wander,
A scene on which angels do ponder,
Yet Jesus will bring their release.

When empires of Babel shall tumble,
Their fabrics in ashes shall crumble,
The Lord will provide for the humble
A city of refuge and peace.

There, there the Lord will deliver
The soul of each faithful believer,
And save them forever and ever,
And sorrow and sighing shall cease.

The saints for those blessings aspire,
And wait with exceeding desire,
Till earth shall be cleansed by fire,
And they their inheritance gain.

Hosanna, such blessings inspire
A song from the heavenly choir,
They sing of the coming Messiah,
From heaven in glory to reign.