1 A pilgrim and a stranger,
I journey here below,
Far distant is my country,
The home to which I go.
Here I must toil and travail,
Oft weary and oppressed,
But there my God shall lead me
To everlasting rest.

2 There still my tho'ts are dwelling,
'Tis there I long to be;
Come, Lord, and call Thy servant
To blessedness with Thee!
Come, bid my toils be ended,
Let all my wand'rings cease;
Call from the wayside lodging
To Thy sweet home of peace!

3 There I shall dwell forever,
No more a stranger guest,
With all Thy blood-bought children
In everlasting rest:
The pilgrim toils forgotten,
The pilgrim conflicts o'er,
All earthly griefs behind us,
Eternal joys before!