"I will arise and go unto my Father"

Wanderer, amid the snaresOf Time's uncertain way,Of thousand nameless fears the sport,Of countless ills the prey:

A stranger 'mid the landWhere thy probation lies,In peril from each adverse blastAnd e'en from prosperous skies,

In peril from thy friends,In peril from thy foes,In peril from the rebel heartThat in thy bosom glows;

Hast thou no Father's houseBeyond this pilgrim scene,That thou on Earth's delusive propsWith bleeding breast dost lean?

Yet not a Mother's careWho for her infant sighs,When absence shuts it from her armsOr sickness dims its eye,

Transcends the love divine,The welcome full and free,With which the glorious King of HeavenWill stretch his arms to thee,

When thou with contrite tearShalt wait within his walls,Imploring but the broken breadThat from his table falls.

No more his mansion shun,No more distrust his grace,Turn from the orphanage of earthAnd find a Sire's embrace.