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.