First Line: Gliding o'er life's fitful waters,

Gliding o'er life's fitful waters,
Heavy surges sometimes roll ;
And we sigh for yonder haven,
For the Home-land of the soul.

Blessed Home-land, ever fair I
Sin can never enter there ;
But the soul, to life awaking,
Everlasting joy shall share.

2 Oft we catch a faint reflection
Of its bright and vernal hills ;
And though distant, how we hail it ! —
How each heart with rapture thrills !

3 To our Father, and our Saviour,
To the Spirit, Three in One,
We shall sing glad songs of triumph
When our harvest work is done.

4 'Tis the weary pilgrim's Home-land,
Where each throbbing care shall cease,
And our longings and our yearnings,
Like the waves, be hushed to peace.