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I am just poor wayfaring stranger,

just travelling through this world off woe

There`s no sickness, tail or danger in that bright land to which I go

I know dark clouds will gather round me,

I know my way is rough and steep

But the beautious fileds lie out before me,

Where all all the saints their vigils keep

* 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 only going over home