The Christian going Home

Home! Home! its glorious threshholdThrough parted clouds I see,Those mansions by a Saviour bought,Where I have long'd to be,And lo! a bright unnumber'd hostO'erspread the heavenly plain,Not one is silent—every harpDoth swell the adoring strain.

Fain would my soul be praisingAmid that sinless throng,Fain would my voice be raisingTheir everlasting song,—Hark! Hark! they bid me hastenTo leave the fainting clay,Friends! hear ye not the welcome sound?"Arise, and come away."

Before the dawn of morningThese lower skies shall light,I shall have joined their companyAbove this realm of night,

Give thanks, my mourning dear ones,Thanks to the Eternal King,Who crowns my soul with victoryAnd plucks from Death his sting.