My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger, 
Would not detain them as they fly,
These hours of toil and danger.

For now we stand on Jordan's strand,
Our friends are passing over;
And just before the Shining Shore
We may almost discover.

Should coming days be cold and dark,
We need not cease our singing;
That perfect rest naught can molest,
Where golden harps are ringing.

For now we stand on Jordan's strand,
Our friends are passing over;
And just before the Shining Shore
We may almost discover.

Let sorrow's rudest tempests blow,
Each chord on earth to sever,
Our King says,
Come, there's our home,
Forever and forever.

For now we stand on Jordan's strand,
Our friends are passing over;
And just before the Shining Shore
We may almost discover.