THE Father’s children—sons of God—
Of holy, heav’nly birth,
We soon the desert shall have trod,
For heaven leave the earth.
Then shall we ne’er know sin or grief,
But e’er with Christ be bless’d;
And, freed from toil, find sweet relief
Within His home of rest.
The love of Father and of Son
The Spirit now makes known
To ev’ry heart which grace hath won,
And shows us, ‘tis our own.
But who can tell the bliss divine,
When we, in light above,
Shall see our Lord in beauty shine,
Within His home of love?
To Him we now a song can raise,
A sweet, melodious strain,
And lift the heart in psalms of praise
To Him who once was slain.
But, oh, what pure, what deep delight,
Unting’d by sin’s alloy,
When we, to praise Him, shall unite,
In His bright home of joy!
His Father’s house oh, blissful place!
The Saviour’s holy home!
Where we shall ever see His face,
And never more shall roam.
Soon, at His bidding, we shall soar
To Him, our Lord, above,
And with Himself His home explore,
His home of light and love.