3 Though far from home, fatigued, oppressed,
Here have I found a place of rest;
An exile still, yet not unblest,
Because I cling to thee.
4 What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and hopes remove;
With patient, uncomplaining love,
Still would I cling to thee.
5 Though oft I seem to tread alone
Life’s dreary waste, with thorns o’ergrown,