Here we are but straying pilgrims;
Here our path is often dim;
But to cheer us on our journey,
Still we sing this wayside hymn…
Here our feet are often weary
On the hills that throng our way;
Here the tempest darkly gathers,
But our hearts within us say…
Here our souls are often fearful
Of the pilgrim’s lurking foe;
But the Lord is our defender,
And He tells us we may know…
Yonder over the rolling river,
Where the shining mansions rise,
Soon will be our home forever,
And the smile of the blessed Giver
Gladdens all our longing eyes.
– Isaac Newton Carman (1854)