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HYMN 535. Pilgrim, p. 192.
'Mid sickness and sorrow, how sweet to our hearts,
Is the hope that the gospel of Jesus imparts!
Which tells us that here, though through troubles we roam,
There's pleasure unmingled, in Heaven, our home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
How pants my rapt spirit, in prospect of home.
An exile from thence, this world dazzles in vain;
Its splendours are baubles-its pleasures are pain;
And when o'er my feelings drear sadness doth come,
With ardor I long for my heavenly home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
How longs my sad soul for my glorious home!
Then open thy portals, thou dark, gloomy grave,
And let me to earth render back what she gave;
While my soul, from the bondage of death and the tomb,
Escapes, bright and pure, to its sorrowless home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
O, when shall I gain thee, my heavenly home?
O when, in thy presence, thou all-righteous One,
Shall I dwell in that day of which thou art the Sun,
And join thy creation, 'neath Heaven's high dome,
To praise thee in thine and their own happy home?
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
O, when shall my spirit soar up to its home?
Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath a burning sky;
Though the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls,
And in fancy's bright domain,
Oft may we all meet again!
When the dreams of life are fled-
When its wasted lamps are dead-
When in cold oblivion's shade,
Beauty, fame, and power are laid,-
Where immortal spirits reign,
There we all shall meet again!
Now from labor and from care,
Evening shades have set us free;
In the work of praise and prayer,
Lord, we would commune with thee;
O behold us from above,-
Fill us with a Saviour's love!
Lord, we here thy mercy know,-
May we in thy truth rejoice;
Nought can charm us here below,
But the music of thy voice;
Thou hast made our cup run o'er-
Praise be thine for evermore!
For the blessings of this day-
For the mercies of this hour-
For the gospel's cheering ray-
For the Spirit's quickening power-
Grateful hearts to thee we raise,-
O accept our hymns of praise!
Rock of Ages, cleft for me!
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let thy ever precious blood,
Symbol of the saving flood,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save me, Lord, and make me pure.
Should my tears forever flow,—
Should my zeal no languor know-
This for sin could not atone:
Thou must save, and thou alone.
In my hand no price I bring-
Simply to thy cross I cling.
While I draw this fleeting breath-
When mine eyelids close in death-
When I rise to worlds above,
And behold thy gracious love-
Rock of Ages cleft for me!
Let me hide myself in thee.
How lovely the place where the Saviour appears, To those who believe in his word;
His presence disperses their sorrows and fears, And bids them rejoice in the Lord.
A day in thy courts, than a thousand beside, Is better and lovelier far!
My soul hates the tents where the wicked abide, And all their delights I abhor.
O give me a place with the humblest of saints, For low at thy feet I would lie;
I know thou regardest my feeble complaints, And ever to help ine art nigh.
In all my endeavours, confiding in thee, Pour out thy abundance of love!
From folly's enchantments, O aid me to flee, To set my affections above.
O God of salvation, in mercy attend The voice of contrition and woe;
And while we before thee in penitence bend, Thy pardon and favor bestow.
We trust in thy mercy and hope in thy grace-O may we still seek thee in prayer
With heirs of thy promise, O give us a place, And grant us thy presence to share
Thy children are we, but unworthy we are-Forgetful of mercies received;
From paths of thy wisdom we've wandered afar, And often thy spirit have grieved.
O grant us repentance for every misdeed, And help us our ways to amend;
With the grace of thy spirit supply us in need, And ever from evil defend.
O Thou in whose presence my soul takes delight, On whom in affliction I call!
My comfort by day, and my song in the night, My Hcpe, my Salvation, my All!
Where dost thou, O Saviour, resort with thy sheep, To feed them in pastures of love?
O why in the valley of death should I weep, Or alone in the wilderness rove?
O why should I wander an alien from thee, Or cry in the desert for bread?
Thy foes will rejoice when my sorrows they see, And smile at the tears I have shed.
Dear Shepherd, I hear and will follow thy call, I know the sweet sound of thy voice
Restore and defend me, for thou art my all,-In thee I will ever rejoice.
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