And where life is a treasure sublime;
’Tis the land of our God—’tis the home of the soul,
Where the ages of splendor eternally roll:
Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,
On the ever-green mountains of life.
2 Here our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land,
But our visions have told of its bliss,
And our souls by the gale from its gardens are fanned,
When we faint in the deserts of this;
And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,