Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never with’ring flow’rs;
Death like a narrow sea divides
This heav’nly land from ours.

There I shall bathe my weary soul
In seas of heav’nly rest,
And not a wave of trouble roll
Across my peaceful breast.
When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun;
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we first begun.