O there’s a better world on high;

Hope on, thou pious breast;

Faint not, thou traveler; on the sky

Thy weary feet shall rest.

2 Anguish may rend each vital part;

Poor man, thy strength how frail!

Yet heaven’s own strength shall shield thy heart,

When flesh and heart shall fail.

3 Through death’s dark vale, of deepest shade,

Thy feet must surely go;

Yet there, e’en there, walk undismayed;

’Tis thy last scene of woe.

4 Thy God—and with the tenderest hand—

Shall guard the traveler through;

“Hail!” shalt thou cry: “hail! promised land!

And, wilderness, adieu!”

5 O Father, make our souls thy care,

And bring us safe to thee;

Where’er thou art—we ask not where—

But there ’tis heaven to be.