Life is like a mountain railway, With an engineer that's brave. We must make the run successful, From the cradle to the grave. Heed the curves, the hills, the tunnels, Never falter, never fail. Keep your hands upon the throttle, And your eyes upon the rail.
Blessed Saviour, Thou wilt guide us, 'Til we reach that blissful shore, Where the angels wait to join us, In Thy praise for evermore.
As you roll across the tressel, spanning Jordon's swelling tide, you'll behold the union depot into which your train will glide; there you'll meet the superintendent, God the Father, God the Son. With extended hands he'll greet you: "Weary pilgrim, Welcome home."
Blessed Saviour, Thou wilt guide us, 'Til we reach that blissful shore, Where the angels wait to join us, In Thy praise for evermore.
As we roll along the mainline, There'll be storms and there'll be night. There'll be sidetracks unexpected, On the left and on the right. But with the straight always before us, And our hearts upon the prize, There'll be no disembarkation, Until we reach paradise.
Blessed Saviour, Thou wilt guide us, 'Til we reach that blissful shore, Where the angels wait to join us, In God's praise for evermore.
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