THERE is a place of endless joy
Prepared for saints above;
Of peace and bliss without alloy,
A home of perfect love.
It was for this that Jesus died,
That we with Him might there abide:
It was for this He suffered pain,
That all His saints with Him might reign.
How bright, how holy is the place,
Unfading, undefiled,
Where God unveils His gracious face
On every blood-bought -child I
They round the throne triumphant stand,
A golden harp in every hand,
To which they sing the ceaseless strain,
“Worthy the Lamb for sinners slain 1”
Oh, wondrous grace! Oh, love divine, To give us such a home!
Let us the present things resign,
And seek this rest to come;
And, gazing on our Savior's cross,
Esteem all else but worthless dross;
Press forward, till the race be run;
Fight, till the crown of life be won