We have heard from the bright, the holy land

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.