At a Pond with A land by faith I see and Blest is the man who shuns the place,

A land by faith I see,
Where saints shall ever be
Free from mortality,
No dying there.

There friends shall meet again,
In happiness to reign,
While thro’ that blest domain,
No dying there.

There sorrow cannot stay;
There tears are wiped away,
One bright eternal day,
No dying there.

Refrain
No dying there,
No dying there;
In that fair heav’nly land,
No dying there.
                               F. A. Blackmer

  Blest is the man who shuns the place,
  Where sinners love to meet;
Who fears to tread their evil ways,
  And hates the scoffer’s seat;

  But in the statutes of the Lord
  Has placed his chief delight;
By day he reads or hears the word,
  And meditates by night.

  He, like a plant of generous kind
  By living waters set,
Safe from the storms and blasting wind,
  Enjoys a peaceful state.

  Green as the leaf, and ever fair
  Shall his profession shine;
While fruits of holiness appear
  Like clusters on the vine.

  Not so the impious and unjust;
  What vain designs they form!
Their hopes are blown away like dust
  Or chaff before the storm.

  Sinners in judgment shall not stand
  Among the sons of grace,
When Christ the Judge, at His right hand,
  Appoints His saints a place.

Rev. Isaac Watts