Early morning light refracts through streaky clouds

Mist hangs low on the land

Rolling green fields intersperse with dense woodland

Gently undulating slopes fade into the grey distance

Standing on the nearer shore, we pilgrims take the boat

And row our way across the golden waters

Under willow fingers reaching low towards the stream

Across waters still and deep

Until we reach the farther shore, the land of hope

The green pastures of God’s own country

We step ashore, and leave our tears and pain behind

Drink from fountains of living water

We have come home at last

to live forever in the sight of the great King