I am just poor wayfaring stranger,
just travelling through this world off woe
There`s no sickness, tail or danger in that bright land to which I go
I know dark clouds will gather round me,
I know my way is rough and steep
But the beautious fileds lie out before me,
Where all all the saints their vigils keep
* I`m going there to see my father,
I`m going there no more to roam
I`m just a-going over Jordan,
I`m only going over home