My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly
Those hours of toil and danger.
For now we stand on Jordan’s strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And, just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.
Our absent king the watchword gave,
“Let every lamp be burning.”
We look afar, across the wave,
Our distant home discerning.
Should coming days be dark and cold,
We will not yield to sorrow,
For hope will sing with courage bold,
“There’s glory on the morrow.”
Let storms of woe in whirlwinds rise,
Each cord on earth to sever.
There, bright and joyous in the skies,
There is our home forever.