| I am a pilgrim and a stranger
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| Travelling through this wearsome land
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| I’ve got a home in that yonder city, good Lord
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| And it’s not not made by hand
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| I’ve got a father, a son, a mother, and a brother
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| The’ve gone gone home to the other shore
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| I am determined to go and see them up there
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| And live with them forever more
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| When I go down to old chilly Jordan
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| Just to bathe my weary soul
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| If I can but touch the hem of his garmet, good Lord
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| Then I know he’ll make me home
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| Now when they laid me down for the last time
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| With these tired hand resting on my breast
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| I don’t want none of that all weaping and crying over me
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| Because you know this old boy is going to rest
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| I am a pilgrim and a stranger
|
| Travelling through this wearsome land
|
| I’ve got a home in that yonder city, good Lord
|
| And it’s not not made by hand |