And now, all tears wiped off from every eye,
They wander where the freshest pastures lie.
1166
11s & 5s.
The home of the soul.
Oh where can the soul find relief from its foes?
A shelter of safety, a home of repose?
Can earth’s highest summit, or deepest hid vale,
Give a refuge, nor sorrow, nor sin can assail?
No, no! there’s no home!