#71The Exile

THERE is a land, a better land than this– There's my home, there's my home! A land of pure, unbounded, perfect bliss– There's my home, there's my home; A captive on this desert shore, I long to count my exile o'er, And be where sorrows come no more: There's my home, there's my home.

Far, far I am from my own happy shore– I would go, I would go. But yet my days of exile are not o'er– I would go, I would go. I would not stay though earth were mine; Though all its treasures for me shine, A captive here I still should pine– I would go, I would go!

Bright visions of that blissful land appear– There's my home, there's my home; How long a pilgrim must I wander here? There's my home, there's my home. O, tell me that I soon shall be, With all the ransomed exiles, free, There in that land I long to see: There's my home, there's my home.

There is a land; a brighter land than this; Joys are there, joys are there; No pain or sorrow, sickness or distress, Reaches there, reaches there. Bright fields of pleasure greet the eye, And crystal streams that never dry; O, give me wings, I now would fly, And be there, and be there.