I have heard music from a far-off land,
Where sighs and sad laments are never heard;
Where friends can meet and clasp each other's hand,
But ne'er give utterance to that dreadful word
Which has wrung hearts, and like a funeral knell
Has tolled for our departed hopes—"Farewell!"
I have had visions of that blessed clime,
Where fadeless flowers and fruits immortal grow—
Far, far beyond the troubled waves of—Time,
Where streams of living waters sparkling flow;
And while a pilgrim here I sadly roam,
I love to call that blissful land my home.
And often with the passing breeze I hear
A sweet, a sad, perchance a warning tone:
"Heaven calls for thee," falls on my willing ear;
Oh! can the glorious message be mine own?
Can it be mine, unworthy child of clay,
To win the realms of everlasting day?
Through Him who died, through Him who rose again,
Through Him who lives, and lives forevermore,
I may at last that blissful rest obtain,
And I may stand upon the lovely shore
Where youth and health on every cheek shall bloom,
Beyond the reach of death and of the tomb.
Then hail sweet voice! sweet message to my heart!
Hail, land of love and home of endless peace!
Ye ties that bind me here, oh! quickly part,
And shout, my soul, for joy to find release,
With angels meet and sing in sweet accord,
Forever blest, forever with the Lord!