Forgetting we have blessings still, of which we’re not bereft.
Let houses, lands and splendor go, surroundings all upset,
If home is where we’ve friends to love, and friends to love us yet.
With such a home, no matter where, how unadorned the place,
If but my Lord’s, he’ll visit there, and with his presence grace.
Thus consecrated to the Lord, his glory will be there.
How blest the place where oft is heard the voice of praise and prayer.
Be I but meet for such a place, where angels camp around,
Where truth and duty are proclaimed, and works of love abound.
The poor and friendless there resort and find their wants supplied,