Called from above, and heavenly men by birth
(Who once were but the citizens of earth),
As pilgrims here, we seek a heavenly home,
Our portion in the ages yet to come.
Where all the saints of every clime shall meet,
And each with all shall all the ransomed greet,
But oh! the height of bliss, my Lord, shall be
To owe it all, and share it all, with Thee.
Thou wast “the image,” in man’s lowly guise,
Of the invisible to mortal eyes;
Come from His bosom, from the heavens above,
We see in Thee incarnate, “God is love.”
Thy lips the Father’s name to us reveal;
What burning power in all Thy words we feel,
When to our raptured hearts we hear Thee tell
The heavenly glories which Thou knowest so well.
That precious stream of water and of blood,
Which from Thy pierced side so freely flowed,
Has put away our sins of scarlet dye,
Washed us from every stain, and brought us nigh.
We are but strangers here; we do not crave
A home on earth, which gave Thee but a grave:
Thy cross has severed ties which bound us here,
Thyself our treasure in a brighter sphere.
J. G. Deck, Little Flock Hymnbook, #212