2 And is it not my chief desire
To feel as if a stranger here?
Do not my hopes and thoughts aspire
Beyond this transitory sphere?
And art thou not, while here I roam,
My hope, my hiding-place, my home?
3 O, yes! these things are ever true;
Thy promise is for ever sure;
And all I now am passing through,
And all that I may still endure,