All my trials,
Lord,
soon
be over
I've got a little book with pages three
And every page
spells liberty
All my trials,
Lord,
soon be over
The river of Jordan is muddy and cold Where it chills the body
but not the soul
All my trials,
Lord,
soon be over
Too late, my brothers,
too late,
but never mind All my trials, Lord,
soon be over
Living were a thing that money could buy
The rich would live and the poor would die
There grows a tree in paradise And the pilgrims call it
the tree of life