We speak of the realms of the blest, That country so bright and so fair, And oft are its glories confessed, But what must it be to be there. We speak of its freedom from sin, From sorrow, temptation, and care, From trials without and within, But what must it be to be there. We speak of its service of love, The robes which the glorified wear, The church of the first-born above, But what must it be to be there.