|137 (2)||Psalm 137 Version 2||SM|
| FAR from my heavenly home,
Far from my Saviourís side,
I often long that He would come
That I may there abide.
|2|| Upon the willows, long,
My harp has silent hung;
How can I sing a worthy song
Till Heavín inspires my tongue?
|3|| My spirit homeward turns,
There would I long to be,
My heart looks up, desires and yearns
That home of love to see.
|4|| Homeward I therefore press,
A dark and toilsome road;
When shall I pass this wilderness
To reach my Lordís abode?
|5|| Lord of my life, draw near,
On Thee my hopes I cast:
O guide me through this desert drear,
And bring me home at last!
|Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847á|