We Have Heard

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 blithe 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.