- Stranger, where is your home? Are you a lonesome traveler thru this bourne? Tell us, where is your home? - I am a poor wayfaring stranger; Travelling thru this world of woe. There is no sickness, toil nor danger In that fair land to which I go. I am going there to see my mother; I'm going home no more to roam. I am just going over Jordan; I am just going over home. - We'll go there, too, my friend, to be with God, when all of our work is through and done. - Stranger, why do you moan? Has your travail and burden, sir, been so long? Tell us, where is your home? - I know dark clouds will hover o'er me. I know my path is rough and steep. But golden fields lie out before me Where weary eyes will no more weep. I am going there to see my father; I'm going home no more to roam... - Stranger, how sad your song. How shall this veil of knowing serve better zone? Tell us, where is your home? - I'll soon be free from every trial. This form shall rest beneath the sod. I'll drop the cross of self denial Then enter in that home with God.. I am going there to see my Savior; I'm going home no more to roam...