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The Home

Gerhard Ter Steegen

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.

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