I am a pilgrim and a stranger Travelling through this wearsome land I've got a home in that yonder city, good Lord And it's not not made by hand I've got a father, a son, a mother, and a brother The've gone gone home to the other shore I am determined to go and see them up there And live with them forever more When I go down to old chilly Jordan Just to bathe my weary soul If I can but touch the hem of his garmet, good Lord Then I know he'll make me home Now when they laid me down for the last time With these tired hand resting on my breast I don't want none of that all weaping and crying over me Because you know this old boy is going to rest I am a pilgrim and a stranger Travelling through this wearsome land I've got a home in that yonder city, good Lord And it's not not made by hand