When will my sweet re­lease be signed,
To quit this house of clay?
When shall my spir­it, un­con­fined,
To glo­ry wing her way?

O how I loathe this mor­tal life,
I hate this slav­ish fear;
I long to end this te­di­ous strife
With sin and sor­row here.

I long to see a smil­ing God,
In ev­er­last­ing light;
When shall I reach His blest abode,
And gain th’en­rap­tured sight?

My tow­er­ing thoughts dis­dain to roll
Amongst these earth­ly toys;
Jesus is dear­er to my soul
Than life with all its joys.

Make haste, my days, fly fast­er still,
And bring me to the place,
To that de­light­ful, ho­ly hill,
Where Je­sus shows His face.

Why am I chained to earth so long,
Exposed to ev­ery snare?
When shall I join the heav’n­ly throng,
And dwell for ev­er there?