We speak of the realms of the Blest,

Of that country so bright and so fair,

And oft are its glories confess’d

But what must it be to be there?

We speak of its path ways of gold,

Of its walls deck’d with Jewels most rare;

Its wonders and pleasures unfold

But what must it be to be there?

We speak of its freedom from sin,

From sorrow, temptation, and care,

From trials without and within?

But what must it be to be there?

We speak of its anthems of praise,

With which we can never compare;

The sweetest on earth we can raise;

But what must it be to be there?

We speak of its service of love,

Of the robes which the glorified wear,

The Church of the First-born above,

But what must it be to be there?

Do Thou, Lord, 'midst pleasure of woe,

Still for Heav’n our spirits prepare;

And shortly we also shall know

And feel what it is to be there.