1 O singers of the mystic clime,
Ye are not far away;
For sweetly to my spirits ear
Come angels’ songs today;
And sweetly to my spirit’s heart,
Storm-tossed and tempest driv’n,
Ye pour your balm of healing sound,
The melody of heav’n.

2 O not beyond the distant stars,
The home of those I love,
And never on a far-off shore
And never far above,
But ever present at my side,
The dear ones walk along;
They guide my feet in surer paths,
And cheer me with their song.

3 I cannot touch their hands, I know,
Their robes I cannot see;
But still I hear their music sweet,
And still they talk with me.
I follow where their voices lead,
While earthly sounds grow dim,
The dear Lord’s messengers are they
To lead me up to Him.