Though with colors torn, 'tis a homeward march,
Soon the golden gates will be entered;
They await the palm, the triumphal arch,
When each eye on the Victor is centered.
The darkness deepens on every side,
And the tempter their faith would weaken;
But day by day through those portals wide,
More brightly shineth their beacon.
For the goal in glory before them gleams,
Where the Savior Himself is their treasure,
And the onward path of suff'ring seems
Unworthy with Him to measure.
LORD, fill our hearts, if on earth we stay,
With an eager and earnest yearning
To press toward the mark, whilst we watch and pray,
For the hour of Thy blest returning.
Not pausing to rest in a scene like this,
Nor to dwell on the wilderness sorrow,
Lest the path Thou hast trod our feet should moss,
And the light of the coming morrow
Ah! keep our eyes on the Victor's face,
Where confidence ne'er can be shaken,
That with fleeter step we may run the race,
Till to "Thy Father's house" we are taken.
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