1 We speak of our lov’ed in the heav’nly land,
Of the grief of vanish’d years;
And the mists of the river of death are spann’d,
By the rainbow of sorrow’s tears.
By the beautiful gate they watch and wait,
Till our feet shall cease to roam;
For over the river, to dwell forever,
The dear ones are gath’ring home.
2 The voice of their melody wanders free,
Thro’ the wail of our broken song;
And their snowy white robes we can almost see,
As the palace of light they throng. [Refrain]
3 But soon shall our feet press the golden strand,
In that city beyond the sea;
When with dear ones again we shall clasp the hand,
On the shores of eternity. [Refrain]Source: Sacred Songs No. 2 #14