1 Our country is Immanuel’s ground,
We seek that promised soil;
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,
While strangers here we toil.
2 Oft do our eyes with joy o’erflow,
And oft are bathed in tears;
Yet nought but heaven our hopes can raise,
And nought but sin our fears.
3 We tread the path our Master trod;
We bear the cross He bore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet
His temples pierced before.
4 Our powers are oft dissolved away
In ecstasies of love;
And while our bodies wander here
Our souls are fixed above.
Amen.
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