5 Yes! when the world looks cold, Which did my Lord revile, A lamb within the fold, I can look up and smile. I’m going home.
6 When earth’s delusive charms Would snare my pilgrim feet, I fly to Jesus’ arms, And yet again repeat, I’m going home.
7 When breaks each mortal tie That holds me from the goal, This, this can satisfy The cravings of my soul— I’m going home.
8 Ah! gently, gently lead, Along the painful way, Bid every word and deed, And every look to say, I’m going home.
1155 7s & 6s. Strangers and pilgrims. Heb. 11:13.
We have no home but heaven; A pilgrim’s garb we wear; Our path is marked by changes, And strewed with many a care; Surrounded with temptation; By varied ills oppressed; Each day’s experience warns us That this is not our rest.
2 We have no home but heaven; Then, wherefore seek one here? Why murmur at privation, Or grieve when trouble’s near? It is but for a season That we as strangers roam, And strangers must not look for The comforts of a home.
3 We have no home but heaven; We want no home beside; O, God, our Friend and Father, Our footsteps thither guide, Unfold to us its glory, Prepare us for its joy, Its pure and perfect friendship, Its angel-like employ.
4 We have a home in heaven:— How cheering is the thought! How bright the expectations Which God’s own word has taught! With eager hearts we hasten The promised bliss to share; We have no home but heaven;— O, would that we were there!
1156 8s & 7s. Shall we e’er forget the story?
When we reach a quiet dwelling, On the strong eternal hills, And our praise to him is swelling, Who the vast creation fills; When the paths of prayer and duty, And affliction all are trod, And we wake to see the beauty Of our Saviour and our God:
2 With the light of resurrection, When our changéd bodies glow, And we gain the full perfection Of the bliss begun below; When the life that flesh obscureth In each radiant form shall shine, And the joy that aye endureth, Flashes forth in beams divine:
3 While we wave the palms of glory Through the long eternal years, Shall we e’er forget the story Of our mortal griefs and fears? Shall we e’er forget the sadness, And the clouds that hung so dim, When our hearts are filled with gladness, And our tears are dried by him?
4 Shall the memory be banished Of his kindness and his care, When the wants and woes are vanished Which he loved to soothe and share? All the way by which he led us, All the grievings which he bore, All the patient love he taught us, Shall we think of them no more?
5 Yes! we surely shall remember How he quickened us from death— How he fanned the dying ember With his Spirit’s glowing breath. We shall read the tender meaning Of the sorrows and alarms, As we trod the desert, leaning On his everlasting arms.
6 And his rest will be the dearer When we think of weary ways, And his light will seem the clearer As we muse on cloudy days. O ’twill be a glorious morrow To a dark and stormy day! We shall recollect our sorrow As the streams that pass away.
1157 8s, 6 lines. Beautiful Zion. Psalm 50:2.
Beautiful Zion, built above— Beautiful city, that I love; Beautiful gates of pearly white, Beautiful temple—God its light! He who was slain on Calvary Opens those pearly gates to me.
2 Beautiful heaven, where all is light; Beautiful angels, clothed in white; Beautiful strains that never tire, Beautiful harps through all the choir: There shall I join the chorus sweet, Worshiping at the Saviour’s feet.
3 Beautiful crowns on every brow, Beautiful palms the conquerors show, Beautiful robes the ransomed wear, Beautiful all who enter there! Thither I press with eager feet; There shall my rest be long and sweet.
4 Beautiful throne for Christ our King, Beautiful songs the angels sing, Beautiful rest—all wanderings cease— Beautiful home of perfect peace; There shall my eyes the Saviour see: Haste to this heavenly home with me!
1158 P. M. The better land.
I hear thee speak of the better land, Thou callest its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore, Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance in the myrtle boughs? Not there! not there!
2 Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies, Or, ’midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds, on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? Not there! not there!