My Home (Smith)

When I cross the shin­ing thresh­old

Of my Fa­ther’s op­en door

When I hear the white robed chor­us

Singing

Glo­ry ev­er­more

Unto Him who loved and gave Him­self

A ran­som for all sin;

Then my rap­tured soul will real­ize

How much I owe to Him.

Oh! the beau­ties of that ci­ty

Tongue or pen can nev­er tell

But I here may have a fore­taste

Of that land in which all dwell

Who have sought the low­ly Mas­ter

And have fol­lowed where He trod

And have passed be­yond the riv­er

Evermore to be with God.

There all sor­row and all tri­als

Are for­ev­er­more un­known;

From my eyes all tears are ban­ished

By the Lamb up­on the throne;

There the streets of that bright ci­ty

Are all paved with pur­est gold

And my bless­èd Lord and Mas­ter

Rarest beau­ties will un­fold.

There my loved ones are await­ing

Till I cross the swell­ing tide

And with them I share the beau­ty

Of my Sav­ior cru­ci­fied;

With this hope that’s set be­fore me

And a heart from sin set free

Keep me

Je­sus

ev­er faith­ful

Till at last Thou call­est me.