In that holy, happy land.
3 Pain and sickness ne'er shall enter,
Grief nor woe my lot shall share;
But, in that celestial center,
I a crown of life shall wear.
4 Death itself shall then be vanquished
And his sting shall be withdrawn;
Shout for gladness, oh, ye ransomed
Hail with joy the rising morn
5 Sing, oh! sing, ye heirs of glory