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THE HOME

Luke xv. 23, 24.

               Thou who givest of Thy gladness
                    Till the cup runs o'er--
                                    Cup whereof the pilgrim weary
                    Drinks to thirst no more--
                                    Not a-nigh me, but within me
                    Is Thy joy divine;
                                    Thou, O Lord, hast made Thy dwelling
                    In this heart of mine.
                                    
               Need I that a law should bind me
                    Captive unto Thee?
                                    Captive is my heart, rejoicing
                    Never to be free.
                                    Ever with me, glorious, awful,
                    Tender, passing sweet,
                                    One upon whose heart I rest me,
                    Worship at His Feet.
                                    
               With me, wheresoe'er I wander,
                    That great Presence goes,
                                    That unutterable gladness,
                    Undisturbed repose.
                                    Everywhere the blessed stillness
                    Of His Holy Place--
                                    Stillness of the love that worships
                    Dumb before His Face.
                                    
               To Thy house, O God my Father,
                    Thy lost child is come:
                                    Led by wandering lights no longer,
                    I have found my home.
                                    Over moor and fen I tracked them
                    Through the midnight blast,
                                    But to find the Light eternal
                    In my heart at last.
                    

G. T. S.


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