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( Originally Published 1868 )


As when some weary trav'ller gains
The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives, if cross the plains
He eyes his home, though distant still.

While he surveys the much-lov'd spot,
He slights the space that lies between ;
His past fatigues are now forgot,
Because his journey's end is seen.

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.

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.

'Tis there, he says, I am to dwell
With Jesus, in the realms of day;
Then I shall bid my cares farewell,
And he will wipe my tears away.

Jesus, on thee our hope depends,
To lead us on to thine abode :
Assur'd our limo will make amends
For all our toil while on the road.

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