1 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.