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176 The Book of Praise.
CLXII.
There is a blessed Home
Beyond this land of woe, Where trials never come,
Nor tears of sorrow flow ; Where faith is lost in sight,
And patient hope is crown'd, And everlasting light
Its glory throws around.
There is a land of peace,
Good angels know it well', Glad songs that never cease
Within its portals swell; Around its glorious Throne
Ten thousand saints adore Christ, with the Father One,
And Spirit, evermore.
O joy all joys beyond,
To see the Lamb who died, And count each sacred wound
In hands, and feet, and side ; To give to Him the praise
Of every triumph won, And sing through endless days
The great things He hath-done.
Look up, ye saints of God,
Nor fear to tread below The path your Saviour trod
Of daily toil and woe ; Wait but a little while
In uncomplaining love, His own most gracious smile
Shall welcome yOu above.
Sir Henry Williams Baker. 1861. |
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