A home in heav’n! What a joyful thought,
As the poor man toils in his weary lot:
His heart oppressed, and with anguish driv’n
From his home below to his home in heav’n.
A home in heav’n as the sufferer lies
On his bed of pain, and uplifts his eyes
To that bright home, what a joy is giv’n,
From the blessed thought of his home in heav’n.
A home in heav’n when the faint heart bleeds
By the Spirit stroke for its evil deeds;
Oh! then what bliss in that heart forgiven,
Does the hope inspire of its home in heav’n.
A home in heav’n when our friends are fled
To the cheerless gloom of the mould’ring dead;
We wait in hope on the promise given,
That we’ll meet up there in our home in heav’n.
