Going Home

We have no home but Heav­en;

A pil­grim’s garb we wear;

Our path is marked with chang­es

And strewed with ma­ny a care;

Surrounded with temp­ta­tion

By var­ied ills op­pressed

Each day’s ex­pe­ri­ence

Warns us that this is not our rest.

We have no home but Heav­en;

Then where­fore seek one here?

Why mur­mur at pri­va­tion?

Or grieve when trou­ble’s near?

It is but for a sea­son

That we as strang­ers roam;

And strang­ers must not look for

The com­forts of a home.

We have no home but Heav­en;

We want no home be­side;

Our God

our friend and fa­ther

Our foot­steps thi­ther guide.

Unfold to us its glo­ry;

Prepare us for its joy

Its pure and per­fect friend­ship

Its an­gel-like em­ploy.

We have no home but Heav­en.

How cheer­ing is the thought!

How bright the ex­pec­ta­tions

Which God’s own Word has taught!

With ea­ger hearts we hast­en

The pro­mised bliss to share;

We have no home but Heav­en—

Oh

would that we were there!