We’ve no abiding city here,
This may distress the worldling’s mind,
But should not cost the saint a tear,
Who hopes a better rest to find.

We’ve no abiding city here,
Sad truth, were this to be our home,
But let this thought our spirits cheer:
We seek a city yet to come.

But hush, my soul, nor dare repine,
The time my God appoints is best;
While here to do his will be mine,
And his to fix my time to rest.

Recordings 1, 2, 3, 4, 5