Eph. iii. 17.
Thou knewest not
where to lay Thy head;
When
over the twilight sea
The birds of the
mountains homeward sped,
There
was no home for Thee.
But God had
prepared for the weary feet
A
home when the toil was past,
And there, in His
chamber still and sweet,
O
Lord, Thou shouldst rest at last.
A Home to be won by
deadly fight,
The
price to be paid in blood--
Oh where is that
palace of fair delight,
That
glorious Home of God?
The City that hath
foundations shone
To
Abram's eyes of old,
And we in our
pilgrimage days look on
To
the towers of crystal gold.
And Thou, an
outcast in Abram's land,
On
the midnight mountains lone,
Didst look to the
Home where Thy feet should stand
When
the long day's work was done.
O mystery of God's
wondrous grace
That
at last that rest should be
That secret
chamber, that holy place,
The
soul Thou hast won for Thee.
T. S. M.
