| |
| WHO that has mingled in the fray, | |
| Or borne the storms of life, | |
| Has not desired to flee away | |
| From all its sin and strife— | |
| Has not desired, to flee away, | 5 |
| Like yonder startled dove, | |
| And seek, in some far wilderness, | |
| A nestling place of love— | |
| Where the tumult, if heard, should excite no alarm, | |
| And the storm and the tempest sweep by, and without harm. | 10 |
| |
| Who that has felt the rankling wound | |
| Of disappointment’s sting, | |
| Or proved the worse than vanity | |
| Of every earthly thing, | |
| Has not desired, like yon sweet dove, | 15 |
| To wander far away, | |
| And find some desert lodging place, | |
| And there for ever stray— | |
| Where the vain show of earth should no longer delude. | |
| Where the fiend disappointment should never intrude. | 20 |
| |
| Who that has felt the crumbling touch | |
| Of premature decay, | |
| Or, sorer far, has mourn’d o’er friends, | |
| Torn from his heart away, | |
| Has not desired, like yonder dove, | 25 |
| To seek some lonely nest, | |
| And, far from earth’s vain fellowship, | |
| To dwell and be at rest— | |
| Till the summons be heard, that shall bid him depart | |
| And for ever rejoin the beloved of his heart. | 30 |
| |
| And it shall be—that summons of joy shall be given, | |
| To the converse of saints, to the mansions of heaven, | |
| Where the cross of the sufferer shall no more be borne, | |
| But the crown of the conqueror for ever be worn. | |
| |
| Thou, who seek’st this glorious prize, | 35 |
| Ask no more for wings of dove; | |
| Angel-pinion’d, thou shalt rise, | |
| To the realms of peace and love. | |
| |
| Realms, where CHRIST has gone before, | |
| Blissful mansions to prepare; | 40 |
| Realms, where they who serve Him here, | |
| Shall his power and glory share. | |
| |
| There, no battle-fray is heard; | |
| There, no tempest need be fear’d; | |
| Disappointment cannot sting, | 45 |
| Banish’d thence each hurtful thing, | |
| Sickness comes not there, nor pain, | |
| Death hath there no dark domain; | |
| Gather’d there, no foot shall rove | |
| Of the happy friends we love; | 50 |
| Gather’d there, no soul shall roam; | |
| ’T is our own—our FATHER’S HOME. | |
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