When I Have Finished My Journey On Earth,
Ended My Labour Of Love,
When I Am Waiting For Jesus To Say,
“Haste To Thy Mansion Above.”
Will They Come? Will They Come?
Say, Will The Angels Come,
And To Jesus Carry Me Home?
Will They Come? Will They Come?
Say, Will The Angels Come,
And To Jesus Carry Me Home?
When I Am Breathing My Latest Farewell,
Parting From All That Is Dear,
When On My Pillow I Wearily Turn,
Say, Will The Angels Be Near?
When, As I Gaze From The Threshold Of Time,
Fainter And Fainter The Light,
Softer And Softer The Voices I Hear,
Bidding My Spirit Good Night.
Yes; They Will Come From The Bright, Sunny Land,
Come On Their Pinions So Fair;
Jesus Will Send Them Its Glory To Tell,
Angels Will Carry Me There.
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