1 There is a brighter land than this,
Where happiness doth dwell;
A land of pure and perfect bliss,
Whose joys no tongue can tell.
There dwell the saints in heav’nly light,
A holy, happy throng;
There all is beautiful and bright,
And Jesus is their song.

2 By faith I can its beauties see,
Its splendor passing bright;
And oft I’m longing there to be,
Secure from every blight;
I’m longing, for this vale is drear,
And I’m by cares oppressed;
I’m sighing for that home so dear,
Where I may sweetly rest.