FAR from ray heavenly home,

FAR from ray heavenly home, Far from my Father's breast, Painting I cry, Blest Spirit, come, And speed me to my rest!

Upon the willows long My harp has silent hung, How should I sing a cheerful song,

My spirit homeward turns, And fain would thither flee: My heart, O Zion! droops and yearns, When I remember thee.

To thee, to thee, I press, A dark and toilsome road, When shall I pass the wilderness, And reach the saints' abode?

God of my life, be near! On Thee my hopes I cast: Oh guide me through the desert drear, And bring me home at last. 1