I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger a trav’ling through this world of woe.
But there’s no sickness, toil nor danger in that fair land to which I go.
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 just a going over home.

I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me; I know my way is rough and steep.
Yet beauteous fields lie just before me, where God’s redeemed their vigils keep.
I’m going there to see my mother.
She said she’d meet me when I come. 
I’m just a going over Jordan.
I’m just a going over home.

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger.
I’m just a going over home.