137 (2)Psalm 137 Version 2SM
    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