| Come, come, ye saints, no toil nor labor fear;
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| But with joy, wend your way.
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| Though hard to you this journey may appear,
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| Grace shall be as your day.
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| 'Tis better far for us to strive
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| Our useless cares from us to drive;
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| Do this, and joy your hearts will swell
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| All is well! |
| All is well!
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| Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
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| 'Tis not so, all is right.
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| Why should we think to earn a great reward,
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| If we now shun the fight?
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| Gird up your loins; |
| fresh courage take;
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| Our God will never us forsake,
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| And soon we’ll have this tale to tell,
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| All is well! |
| All is well!
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| We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
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| Far away in the West,
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| Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
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| There the saints will be blessed.
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| We’ll make the air with music ring,
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| Shout praises to our God and King;
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| Above the rest these words we’ll tell,
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| All is well! |
| All is well!
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| And should we die before our journey’s through,
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| Happy day! |
| All is well!
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| We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
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| With the just we shall dwell!
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| But if our lives are spared again
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| To see the saints their rest obtain,
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| O how we’ll make this chorus swell,
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| All is well! |
| All is well! |