My heart is bounding onward,
Home to the land I love;
Its distant vales and mountains
My wishful passions move:
Fain would my thirsting spirit
Its living freshness breathe,
And wearied steps find resting
Its hallowed shades beneath.

No soil of nature's evil,
No touch of man's rude hand,
Shall e'er disturb around us
That bright and peaceful land.
The charms that woo our senses
Shall be as pure as fair;
For all, while stealing o'er us,
Shall tell of Jesus there.

What light, when all its beaming
Shall own Him as its Sun !
What music, when its breathing
Shall bear His name along !
No pause, no change, those pleasures
Shall ever seek to know:
The drought that lulls our thirsting
But wakes that thirst anew.

F. G. Bellett.