I am a stranger here,
No home, no rest I see;
Not all men count most dear
Should win a sigh from me:
I’m going home.
No home, no rest I see;
Not all men count most dear
Should win a sigh from me:
I’m going home.
Saviour, Thy home is mine,
And I, Thy Father’s child;
With hopes and joys divine
The world’s a weary wild:
I’m going home
Home, O how soft and sweet,
It thrills upon the heart!
Home, where the brethren meet
And never, never part:
I’m going home.
Home, where the Bridegroom takes
The purchase of His love;
Home, where the Father waits
To welcome her above:
I’m going home.
And when the world looks cold,
Which did my Lord revile,
A lamb within the fold
I can look up and smile:
I’m going home.
When earth’s delusive charms
Would snare my pilgrim feet,
I’ll fly to Jesus’ arms
And yet again repeat,
I’m going home.
Ah! Gently, gently lead,
Along the painful way,
Bid every word and deed
And every look to say,
I’m going home!