1 I’m a pilgrim, and I’m a stranger:
I can tarry, I can tarry but a night;
Do not detain me, for I am going
To where the streamlets are ever flowing.
I’m a pilgrim, and I’m a stranger;
I can tarry, I can tarry but a night.

2 There the sunbeams are ever shining,
And I'm longing, and I'm longing for the sight;
Within a country, unknown and dreary,
I have been wand'ring, forlorn and weary.

3 Of that country to which I'm going,
My Redeemer, my Redeemer is the light;
There is no sorrow, nor any sighing,
Nor any sin there, nor any dying.