There is never a sorrow, a sigh or a sin
In the city that lies before us;
And the ransomed and blest, as they enter in,
Will join in the heavenly chorus.
They will sing of the wonders of love and grace
Of a smile, as the sun adorning;
And shall look on the Blessed One face to face
Who reigns in the Land of the Morning.

chorus:
O the beautiful land, on the other strand
With never a woe or a warning;
Where the blessed shall come, when we all go home
To the beautiful land of the morning.

We may dream of that home 'til our eyes overflow
In a rapture of love and wonder,
As we roam through the shadowy vale below,
The mystical, starry vault under.
But we dream in our weakness, we may not tell
Of the real, our fancies scorning
Of the joy that awaits us, who come to dwell
At last in the land of the morning.

(chorus)

We may weep as we bend o'er the cold darksome tomb
And a dear one in dreamless slumber;
But we know of a shadowless world of bloom
And love that our shadows shall number.
And we know we shall go to that realm of light
When the Reaper shall bring us warning
And there never is hunger, or cold or night
In that beautiful land of the morning.

(chorus)