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.