As when the weary traveler 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 loved 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;
Assured our home will make amends
For all our toil while on the road.