8s.

1
We sing of the realms of the blest,
That country so bright and so fair;
And oft are its glories confessed;
But what must it be to be there?

2
We speak of its freedom from sin,
From sorrow, temptation, and care;
From trials without and within:
But what must it be to be there?

3
We speak of its service of love –
The robes which the glorified wear,
The church of the first born above:
But what must it be to be there?