Ye weary heavy laden souls,
Who are oppressed sore;
Ye trav’lers thro’ the wilderness
To Canaan’s peaceful shore,
Thro’ chilling winds and beating rains,
The waters deep and cold,
And enemies surrounding me,
Take courage and be bold.
We’re often like the lonesome dove,
That mourns her absent mate;
From hill to hill, from vale to vale,
Her sorrows doth relate.
But Canaan’s land is just before,
Sweet spring is coming on;
A few more winds and beating rains
And winter will be gone.