By:
William John Hocking, Editor
THY Father’s house, where Thou, O Lord,
Eternally didst dwell;
The Firstborn and the Only Son,
The Doer Thou of all there done;
Who shall its pleasures tell?
Thy Father’s house, — our Father too,
For Thou hast made us know
The depths of love that fill His heart,
And in that love we have a part:
What thanks to Thee we owe!
Thy Father’s house! Oh, place of calm,
Forever undisturbed!
Where never toil shall wear the rest,
Nor sorrow’s pang intrude the breast
So often now perturbed!
Thy Father’s house, where, all prepared,
Abodes full many are;
A dwelling place for every child,
“Made meet” by Thee, cleansed, undefiled,
Thy glory there to share!
Thy Father’s house, where Thou wilt soon
Thy blood-bought bride receive,
Presenting her with joy untold,
In that bright place of purest gold,
Which heart can ne’er conceive.
Thy Father’s house, for aye our home,
Our place of endless joy;
Perfect in all that place of bliss,
Resplendent in Thy comeliness,
Its pleasures we’ll enjoy.
Thy Father’s house! Soon shall we taste
Its endless joy with Thee.
The nearest place to us is given,
The dearest place on earth, in heaven,
For we are one with Thee!
H.C.R.