O Land of Our King

O land of our king!

Where harv­est em­brac­es the flow­ery spring

Where all things worth hav­ing for­ev­er re­main

Where no­thing we miss but our sor­row and pain;

All man­kind is long­ing to find and ex­plore

Thy beau­ti­ful shore.

How bless­èd the land!

Where time is not mea­sured by tears or with sand

Where fades not the flow­er

the bird nev­er dies

Where joys are not bub­bles that break as they rise;

Where life does not crown us with white for the gloom

Of death and the tomb.

How bless­èd to be

Where death has no sting

where from sin we are free

Where all that de­cayed in new glo­ry shall bloom

Where all that was ru­ined shall rise from the tomb

Where love grows in light as a su­mmer day fair

With flow­er-crowned hair.

My spir­it re­ceives

Thro’ Christ what the world nei­ther knows nor be­lieves;

This while we are here

we but dim­ly can know

Though feel­ing with­in us its heav­en­ly glow.

The Lord sa­ith: On earth as in Hea­ven ab­ove

My king­dom is love.