L.M.
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
“’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.”
6
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.
