Homeward

WHEN I come to my Father's house he will hear me:I shall not needWith words imploreCompassion at my Father's door:With yearning mute my heart will plead,And my Father's heart will hear me.

One thought all the weary day hath caressed me:Though cloud-o'ercastIs the way I go,Though steep is the hill I must climb, yet, oh,When evening falls and the light is past,At my Father's house I will rest me.

For thither,—whatsoe'er betide me;Howe'er I stray,Beset by fears,Wearied by effort, or blinded by tears,—Ah, surely I shall find my way,Though none there be to guide me!