Wayfaring Stranger

I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger, I'm trav'ling through this world below; There is no sickness, toil, nor danger, In that bright world to which I go. I know dark clouds will gather o'er me, I know my pathway's rough and steep; But golden fields lie out before me, Where weary eyes no more shall weep. I'm going there to see my mother, She said she'd meet me when I come; I'm just a going over Jordan, I'm just a going over home. I want to sing salvation's story, In concert with the blood-washed band; I want to wear a crown of glory, When I get home to that good land. I'm going there to see my brothers, They passed before me one by one; I'm just a going over Jordan, I'm just a going over home. I'll soon be free from every trial, This form will rest beneath the sod; I'll drop the cross of self-denial, And enter in my home with God. I'm going there to see my Saviour, Who shed for me His precious blood; I'm just a going over Jordan, I'm just a going over home.