Isaac Watts, 1709
There is a land of pure delight,|
Where saints immortal reign,
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
2. There everlasting spring abides,
3. Bright fields beyond the swelling flood
4. But timorous mortals start and shrink|
To cross this narrow sea;
And linger, shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.
5. O could we make our doubts remove,
6. Could we but climb where Moses stood,
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