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Strangers and pilgrims.
1 Pet. 2:11.
My rest is in heaven—my home is not here;
Then why should I murmur when trials appear?
Be hushed, my sad spirit, the worst that may come
But shortens thy journey and hastens thee home.
2 A pilgrim and stranger, I seek not my bliss,
Nor lay up my treasures in regions like this;
I look for a city which hands have not piled;
I pant for a country by sin undefiled.
3 Afflictions may try me, but can not destroy;
One vision of home turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tear that flows from my eyes,
But sweetens my hope of that home in the skies.
4 Though foes and temptations my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy or come sorrow—the worst may befall,
One moment in heaven will make up for all.
5 The thorn and the thistle around me may grow,
I would not repose upon roses below;
I ask not my portion, I seek not my rest,
Till, seated with Jesus, I lean on his breast.
6 A scrip for the way and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through the enemy’s land:
The road may be rough, but it can not be long:
So I’ll smooth it with hope, and I’ll cheer it with song.
F. Lyte.