We have heard from the bright, the holy land,
We have heard, and our hearts are glad;
For we were a lonely pilgrim band,
And weary, and worn, and sad.
They tell us the saints have a dwelling there,
No longer are homeless ones;
And we know that the goodly land is fair,
Where life's pure river runs.
They say green fields are waving there,
That never a blight shall know;