My life is a wearisome journey:
I'm sick with the dust and the heat,
The rays of the sun beat upon me,
The briers are wounding my feet;
But the city to which I am going
Will more than my trials repay;
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

With so many hills to climb upward
I often am longing for rest;
But He who appoints me my pathway
Knows just what is needful and best.
I know in His word He has promised
That my strength shall be as my day,
And the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

He loves me too well to forsake me,
Or give me one trial too much;
His people He has dearly purchased,
And Satan can never claim such.
By and by I'll see Him, and praise Him,
In that city of unending day,
And the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end, of the way.

When the last feeble steps are taken,
And the gates of the city appear,
When the triumphant songs of redeemed ones
Sweetly fall on my listening ear;
When all that now seems mysterious
Shall be plain and be clear as the day,
Yes, the toils of the road shall seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

Though now I am footsore and weary,
I shall rest when I'm safely at home:
I know I'll receive a glad welcome
For the Saviour Himself has said, Come.
So when I am weary in body,
And sinking in spirit, I say,
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.
Cooling fountains are there for the thirsty;
There are cordials for those who are faint;
There are robes that are white and purer
Than any that fancy can paint.
Then with hope and with song I'll press onward,
Thinking often through each weary day,
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.