THERE is a land of pure delight,
   Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
    And pleasures banish pain.
2  There everlasting spring abides,
    And never-withering flowers:
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
    This heavenly land from ours.
3  Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
    Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
    While Jordan rolled between.
4  But timorous mortals start and shrink
    To cross this narrow sea,
And linger, shivering on the brink,
    And fear to launch away.
5  O, could we make our doubts remove,
    Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love
    With unbeclouded eyes.
6  Could we but climb where Moses stood,
    And view the landscape o’er,
Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood,
    Should fright us from the shore.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748