My home is o’er the swelling flood,
Where suns no more descend;
Within the paradise of God,
Where pleasures never end.
My King in beauty there enthroned,
Angelic hosts behold;
And there I hope, with glory crowned,
To walk those streets of gold.
O Star of day! thy holy beams
Pierce thro’ the shadows gray;
We hail with joy thy twinkling gleams,
That tell of perfect day;
Soon shall thy glory fill the skies,
Thou Hope of seers and kings,
The Sun of Righteousness shall rise,
With healing in His wings.
O Day of glory! dawn, and bring
Creation’s second birth,
When morning stars again shall sing
O’er this dark, groaning earth.
When He who said, “Let there be light!”
And all things sprang to view;
Shall speak again that word of might,
“See! I make all things new.”
I watch, and pray, and work, and wait,
I weep, I sigh, I sing,
Till I shall pass yon pearly gates,
And gaze upon my King:
I tell the glories of my home,
I sing its mansions fair;
And whosoever will may come,
And have a dwelling there.
Rev. H.L. Hastings/Hubert P. Main