The Beautiful Hills

O the beautiful hills where the saints will rest,When the Lord has made all things new;Where we shall forget, in the smiles of God,The toils we have journeyed through.We have seen those hills in their brightness riseBy the eye of faith below,And we've felt the thrill of immortal eyesIn the night of our darkest woe.

Second line under the end of the first chorus line (tenor and bass, under the held «shore» of soprano and alto):ever green shore;

The cities of yore that were reared in crime,And renowned by the praise of seers,Went down in the tramp of old King Time,To sleep with his grey-haired years;But the beautiful hills rise bright and strongThro' the smoke of old Time's red wars,As on that day when the first deep songRolled up from the morning stars.

We dream of rest on the beautiful hills,Where the trav'ler shall thirst no more;And we hear the hum of a thousand rillsThat wander the green glens o'er.We'll grasp the hands of the martyred ones,Who have braved the world's rude strife,And shout with them o'er the vict'ry gained,And the crown of immortal life.

Our arms are weak, yet we would not flingTo our feet this load of ours;The winds of spring to the valleys sing,And the turf replies with flowers,—And thus we learn on our wintry wayThat our Father rules as he wills;And the breath of God on our souls shall playTill we reach those radiant hills.