The Pilgrimage of Life.
1 Our country is Immanuel's ground;
We seek that promised soil;
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,
While strangers here we toil.
2 Oft do our eyes with joy o'erflow,
And oft are bathed in tears;
Yet naught but heaven our hopes can raise,
And naught but sin our fears.
3 We tread the path our Master trod:
We bear the cross he bore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet,
His temples pierced before.
4 Our powers are oft dissolved away
In ecstasies of love;
And while our bodies wander here,
Our souls are fixed above.
5 We purge our mortal dross away,
Refining as we run;
But while we die to earth and sense,
Our heaven is here begun.