When I gaze on the light of you beautiful sky,
And the curtains of azure unfolded on high,
Their glory and splendor recall to my thought
The blissful inheritance Jesus has bought;
I fancy the portals of heaven appear,
And I feel at the moment, —My home is not here.
When I see all around me those flowers so bright
Which God has implanted to ravish my sight,
I hail them as pledges of heavenly love,
And I think of the brighter ones blooming above;
Their fragrance reminds me of hopes that are dear,
And I love to remember, —My home is not here.
As I list to the song of the lark as she flies,
Still warbling her notes as she mounts to the skies,
I think of the time when my heaven-ward flight
Will like hers be directed to regions of light.
I shall sing, as I leave every trouble and fear,
My home is in heaven, —My home is not here!
Oh! land of enjoyment; oh! home of my heart,
What blissful delights cloth thine image impart!
In the midst of affliction, of trouble, and grief,
One thought of Christ’s glory brings instant relief,
And quickly the darkening clouds disappear,
As the feeling steals o’er me, —My home is not here.