HOME-SICKNESS.
8,8
Ich wolt daz ich daheime wer
Henry of Loufenburg. Fifteenth Century.
trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1869
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I would I were at last at home,
And all earth's trials overcome:
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At home in that calm, happy place
Where I shall see God face to face!
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Then thither, Heart, for refuge flee,
Where angel-hosts are waiting thee.
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If earth for thee be only gloom,
Thou wilt but get the sooner home.
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At home is Life that never dies,
And perfect joy unmixed with sighs;
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And perfect health, untouched by pain,
That perfect ever shall remain.
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A thousand years are as a day,
For weariness hath there no sway.
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Rise thither, heart and soul of mine,
And seek that blessedness divine.
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The treasure that is stored not there
Will only bring thee woe and care.
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Thou hast no resting-place below,
To-day, to-morrow, thou may'st go.
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Then since it may not other be,
From earth's deluding phantoms flee:
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Repent thy sins, prepare for home,
To-morrow may the Voice say, Come.
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Farewell, O World, now home I fare;
God guide all true hearts safely there!
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