I am a poor wayfaring stranger,
|
wandering through this world of woe,
|
and there¡¯s no sickness, no toil or danger
|
in that bright land to which I go.
|
I¡¯m going there to meet my mother,
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she said she¡¯d meet me when I come.
|
I¡¯m only going over Jordan,
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I¡¯m only going over home.
|
|
I¡¯ll soon be free from every trial,
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my body asleep in the old graveyard.
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I¡¯ll drop the cross of self denial,
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and enter on my great reward.
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I¡¯m going there to meet my father,
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I¡¯m going there no more to roam.
|
I¡¯m only going over Jordan,
|
I¡¯m only going over home.
|
|
I am a poor wayfaring stranger,
|
wandering through this world of woe,
|
and there¡¯s no sickness, no toil or danger
|
In that bright land to which I go.
|
I¡¯m going there to see my sister,
|
she said she¡¯d meet me when I come.
|
I¡¯m only going over Jordan,
|
I¡¯m only going over home.
|
|
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|
Poor Wayfaring Stranger
|
| Joan Baez |
