1. Ye Saints who dwell on Europe’s shore,
Prepare yourselves for many more,
To leave behind your native land,
For sure God’s judgements are at hand.
For you must cross the raging main
Before the promised land you gain,
And with the faithful make a start,
To cross the plains with your handcart.
For some must push and some must pull,
As we go marching up the hill;
So merrily on the way we go
Until we reach the Valley O!
2. As on the roads the carts are pull’d,
’Twould very much surprise the world,
To see the old and feeble dame
Thus lend a hand to pull the same!
And maidens fair will dance and sing,
Young men more happy than a King,
And children, too, will laugh and play;
Their strength increasing day by day.
For some must push and some must pull,
As we go marching up the hill;
So merrily on the way we go
Until we reach the Valley O!