This world is poor from shore to shore,

And, like a baseless vision,

Its lofty domes and brilliant ore,

Its gems and crowns are vain and poor;

There’s nothing rich but heaven.

2 Empires decay, and nations die,

Our hopes to winds, are given;

The vernal blooms in ruin lie,

Death reigns o’er all beneath the sky;

There’s nothing sure but heaven.

3 Creation’s mighty fabric all

Shall be to atoms riven—

The skies consume, the planets fall,

Convulsions rock this earthly ball;

There’s nothing firm but heaven.

4 A stranger, lonely here I roam,

From place to place am driven;

My friends are gone, and I’m in gloom,

This earth is all a dismal tomb;

I have no home but heaven.

5 The clouds disperse—the light appears,

My sins are all forgiven;

Triumphant grace has quelled my fears:

Roll on, thou sun! fly swift, my years!

I’m on my way to heaven.