The Goodly Land BY W. H. HYDE
We have heard from the bright, the holy land, We have heard, and our hearts are glad; For we were a lonely pilgrim band, And weary, and worn, and sad. They tell us the saints have a dwelling there, No longer are homeless ones; And we know that the goodly land is fair, Where life's pure river runs.
They say green fields are waving there, That never a blight shall know; And the deserts wild are blooming fair, And the roses of Sharon grow. There are lovely birds in the bowers green, Their songs are blilhe and sweet; And their warblings, gushing ever new, The angels' harpings greet.
We have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns, And the silvery band in white; Of the city fair, with pearly gates, All radiant with light; We have heard of the angels there, and saints, With their harps of gold, how they sing; Of the mount, with the fruitful tree of life, Of the leaves that healing bring.
The King of that country, He is fair, He's the joy and light of the place; In His beauty we shall behold Him there, And bask in His smiling face. We'll be there, we'll be there in a little while, We'll join the pure and the blest; We'll have the palm, the robe, the crown, And forever be at rest.
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