There is a land, a better land than this

There is a land, a better land than this,—There's my home, there's my home!A land of pure, unbounded, perfect bliss,—There's my home, there's my home.A captive on this desert shore,I long to count my exile o'er,And be where sorrows come no more;There's my home, there's my home.

Far, far I am from my own happy shore,—I would go, I would go;—But yet my days of exile are not o'er:I would go, I would go.I would not stay though earth were mine;Though all its treasures for me shine,A captive here I still would pine:I would go, I would go.

Bright visions of that blissful land appear,—There's my home, there's my home,—How long a pilgrim must I wander here?There 's my home, there 's my home.O tell me that I soon shall be,With all the ransomed exiles, free,—In that blest land I long to see:There 's my home, there 's my home.

There is a land, a brighter land than this,—Joys are there, joys are there;—No pain or sorrow, sickness or distress,Reaches there, reaches there.Bright fields of pleasure greet the eye,And crystal streams that never dry;O give me wings! I now would fly,And be there, and be there.