“Going home,” there’s nothing dearer
To the pilgrim’s heart than home;
Drawing nearer still and nearer
To the place where pilgrims come:
Much he thinks of what will be,
Much of what he hopes to see;
Thinks of kindred, friends, and brothers,
But of Christ above all others.
‘Tis the blessed hope of seeing
Him he loves in glory there!
Blessed hope of ever being
With the Lord His joys to share:
Tis this hope that lightens toil
And in sorrow makes him smile,
Cheers him in the midst of strangers,
Keeps him when beset with dangers.
“Going home,” then it behooves us
Here to live as pilgrims do:
When the trial comes it proves us—
Proves if we have faith or no.
Let us make our calling sure,
Let us to the end endure;
In the Savior’s love abiding,
In the Savior’s strength confiding!
C. F.