As when the weary travell'r gains
The height of some o'er-looking 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.
John Newton (1725-1807)
Olney Hymns, 1779.
-- as posted on Song to the Lamb 8 Dec 2007