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HOME-SICKNESS.

8,8

Ich wolt daz ich daheime wer

Henry of Loufenburg. Fifteenth Century.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1869

I would I were at last at home,

And all earth's trials overcome:

At home in that calm, happy place

Where I shall see God face to face!

Then thither, Heart, for refuge flee,

Where angel-hosts are waiting thee.

If earth for thee be only gloom,

Thou wilt but get the sooner home.

At home is Life that never dies,

And perfect joy unmixed with sighs;

And perfect health, untouched by pain,

That perfect ever shall remain.

A thousand years are as a day,

For weariness hath there no sway.

Rise thither, heart and soul of mine,

And seek that blessedness divine.

The treasure that is stored not there

Will only bring thee woe and care.

Thou hast no resting-place below,

To-day, to-morrow, thou may'st go.

Then since it may not other be,

From earth's deluding phantoms flee:

Repent thy sins, prepare for home,

To-morrow may the Voice say, Come.

Farewell, O World, now home I fare;

God guide all true hearts safely there!

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