I am a poor, wayfaring stranger,
traveling through this world alone.
Ain’t no sickness, toil nor danger,
in that fair world to which I go.
I’m going home to meet my Father,
I’m going home no more to roam;
I’m only going over Jordan,
I am just going over home.
I know dark clouds will gather o’er me,
I know my way is rough and steep.
Yet beautiful fields lie just before me,
where God’s redeemed their vigils keep.
And I’m going there to see my Mother.
She said she’d meet me when I come
I want to wear a crown of glory,
when I get home to that good land;
I want to shout salvation's story,
in concert with the blood-washed band.
And I’m going there to see my Saviour,
to sing His praise forevermore.
