Amid the hours that rapid fly,
Amid the flowers that soon must die,
Amid our tears while here we roam,
How sweet the tho't, we're going home.

We'll cling to Jesus in the hour
When sin and Satan use their power,
And murmur not when sorrows come,
For by-and-by we're going home.

No dying groans shall there be heard,
And we shall speak no parting word;
O sinner, to the Saviour come,
And join the band that's going home.

CHORUS

Going home, going home,
How sweet the tho't, we're going home;
Going home, going home,
How sweet the tho't, we're going home.