| I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
|
| While traveling through this world below
|
| There is no toil, no sick, no danger
|
| In that fair land, to which I go
|
| I’m going home to see my mother
|
| I’m going home, no more to roam
|
| I am just going over Jordan
|
| I am just going over home
|
| I know dark clouds will hover o’er me
|
| I know my pathways rough and steep
|
| But golden fields lie out before me
|
| Where weary eyes no more will weep
|
| I’m going home to see my father
|
| I’m going home, no more to roam
|
| I am just going over Jordan
|
| I am just going over home
|
| I’ll soon be free from every trial
|
| This form shall rest beneath the sun |