As when the weary traveller gains,
The height of some o’erlooking hill,
His heart revives, if ’cross the plains
He eyes his home, though distant still.
While he surveys the much-loved spot,
He slights the space that lies between;
His past fatigues are all forgot,
Because his journey’s end is seen.
Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views,
By faith, his mansion in the skies;
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.
The thought of home his spirit cheers,
No more he grieves for troubles past,
Nor any future trial fears,
So he may safe arrive at last.
“’Tis there,” he says, “I am to dwell,
With Jesus, in the realms of day;
Then shall I bid my cares farewell,
And He shall wipe my tears away.”
Jesus, on Thee our hope depends,
To lead us on to Thine abode;
Assured our home will make amends
For all our toil while on the road.