Come, Come, Ye Saints (Arr. C. Papworth & A. Whitcomb)

Come, come, ye saints, no toil nor labor fear

But with joy wend your way

Though hard to you this journey may appear

Grace shall be as your day

'Tis better toil for us to strive

Our useless cares from us to drive

To this end, joy your hearts will swell

All is well, all is well

We'll find the place which God for us prepared

Far away in the land

Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid

There the saints will be blest

We'll make the air with music ring

Shout praises to our God and King

Above the rest these words we'll tell

All is well, all is well

And should we die before our journey's through

Happy day, all is well

We then are free from toil and sorrow, too

With the just we shall dwell

But if our lives are spared again

To see the saints their rest 'em tell

Oh, how we'll make this chorus swell

All is well, all is well

All is well, all is well