Old men have thought, and I have read,

Of streets of golden light,
Where crowns of gold wreath every head,

And all are clothed in white ;
But I would rather make my home

Where little children play
If there be such a land as that,

O, Savior, show the way.

My feet would turn from streets of gold,

To tread the grass of God,
And stand where all his fields unfold,

In daisied splendor broad ;
Where children's voices, sweet and low,

Float thro' the perfumed hay
If there be such a land as that,

O, Savior, show the way.

There every thought is understood :

No envy gives offence ;
There, to eternity, the soul

Bathes deep in innocence ;
There no mistakes are ever made ;

No errors dark the day ;
I know there 's such a land as that

My Savior, lead the way.