1. Strangers and pilgrims here below,
This earth we own not as our place,,
But hasten through its toil and woe,
Impatient to behold Thy face;
On to our heav’nly country move,
Our everlasting home above.
2. We’ve no continuing city here,
But seek a city out of sight,
Thither our upward course we steer,.
As dwellers in its courts of lig ht;
Jerusalem, the saints’ abode,
Whose builder is the living God.
3. Patient, th’ appointed race we run,
This weary world we cast behind,
From strength to strength we travel on,
Our holy dwelling-place to find;
Our labour this, our only aim,
To reach the new Jerusalem.