The Promised Country
Fair must that promised country be
Whose streams rise from eternity
And One doth lead upon that way
Whose footfalls are the paths of day.
Nor lurking fear pursues them there,
As forward in the morning air
With Him the blessed ransomed go,
Their garments washen white as snow.
Alas! my days are very dim
That look up to the Seraphim.
Ah, Lord, some dawning may I be
One of that shining company!