Strangers and Pilgrims
Strangers and pilgrims here below,
This earth, we know, is not our place;
We hasten through this vale of woe,
and, restless to behold Thy face,
Swift to our heavenly country move,
Our everlasting home above.
We've no abiding city here,
But seek a city out of sight;
Thither our steady course we steer,
Aspiring to the plains of light,
Jerusalem, the saints' abode,
Whose founder is the living God.