Gliding o’er life’s fitful waters,
Heavy surges sometimes roll;
And we sigh for yonder haven,
For the homeland of the soul.
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Blessèd homeland, ever fair!
Sin can never enter there;
But the soul, to life awaking,
Everlasting bloom shall wear.
Oft we catch a faint reflection,
Of its bright and vernal hills;
And, though distant, how we hail it!
How each heart with rapture thrills!
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To our Father, and our Savior,
To the Spirit, Three in One,
We shall sing glad songs of triumph
When our harvest work is done.
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’Tis the weary pilgrim’s homeland,
Where each throbbing care shall cease,
And our longings and our yearnings,
Like a wave, be hushed to peace.
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