WE read of a place that’s called heaven,
It’s made for the pure and free;
These truths in God’s word He has giv-en,
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be.
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be,
Sweet home of the hap-py and free;
Fair heaven of rest for the wea-ry,
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be.
In heav-en, no drooping nor pin-ing,
No wish-ing for else-where to be;
God’s light is for-ev-er there shin-ing,
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be.
Pure wa-ters of life there are flow-ing,
And all who will drink may be free;
Rare jew-els of splen-dor are glow-ing,
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be.
The an-gels so sweet-ly are sing-ing,
Up there by the beau-ti-ful sea;
Sweet chords from their gold harps are ring-ing,
How beau-ti-ful heav-en must be.