I am a poor wayfaring stranger Travelling through this world of woe Yet there's no sickness, toil, nor danger In that far land to which I go I'm going there to see my father I'm going there no more to roam I'm only crossing through the moorland I'm only heading toward my home I know dark clouds will gather round me I know my way is rough and steep But beauteous fields lie just before me Where kindred souls their vigils keep I've wandered long through heath and heather Beneath grey skies and moorland weather My name lost deep in wind and rain But still I walk through hill and plain And though the wind may chill my bones My soul still sings in ancient tones The road ahead may twist and fade But moorlands guide me through the shade I am a poor wayfaring stranger Travelling through this world of woe Yet there's no sickness, toil, nor danger In that far land to which I go
