I am a pilgrim and a stranger,
Traveling though this wearisome land,
I’ve got a home in that yonder city, good Lord,
And it’s not, good Lord it’s not, not made by hand.
I’ve got a mother, a sister and a brother,
Who have gone on before,
And I’m determined to go and meet them, good Lord,
Over on that other shore.
As I go down to the river of Jordan,
Just to ease my troubled soul,
If I could touch but the hem of His garment, good Lord,
I do believe it would make me whole.
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