I am a poor, wayfaring stranger,
traveling through this world alone.
Ainít no sickness, toil nor danger,
in that fair world to which I go.
Iím going home to meet my Father,
Iím going home no more to roam;
Iím only going over Jordan,
I am just going over home.
I know dark clouds will gather oíer me,
I know my way is rough and steep.
Yet beautiful fields lie just before me,
where Godís redeemed their vigils keep.
And Iím going there to see my Mother.
She said sheíd meet me when I come
I want to wear a crown of glory,
when I get home to that good land;
I want to shout salvation's story,
in concert with the blood-washed band.
And Iím going there to see my Saviour,
to sing His praise forevermore.