Beautiful and bright,
Where sweet joys supernal
Never are dimmed by night ;
White-robed angels are singing
Ever around the bright throne ;
When, oh, when shall I see thee,
Beautiful, beautiful Home ?
Home ! beautiful Home ! . . .
Bright, beautiful Home ! . . .
Bright Home of our Saviour,
Bright, . . beautiful Home !
2 Flowers are ever springing
In that Home so fair ;
Little children singing
Praises to Jesus there.
How they swell the glad anthem,
Ever around the bright throne !
When, oh, when shall I see thee,
Beautiful, beautiful Home ?
3 Soon shall I join the ransomed,
Far beyond the sky ;
Christ is my salvation,
Why should I fear to die ?
Soon my eyes shall behold Him
Seated upon the bright throne ;
Then, oh then, shall I see thee,
Beautiful, beautiful Home !