Friday, May 13, 2016

      O! when the exile views his home;
      The banish'd child his father's face;
      The traveller, long condemn'd to roam,
      His native fields, his resting-place;

      What sweet emotions fill the mind!
      What joy, what blessedness they feel!
      My God! these joys are all combin'd,
      When at thy mercy-seat I kneel.

      Thou art my dwelling-place, my rest,
      My Father, in whose smile I live:
      All I desire to make me blest,
      That smile alone can amply give.

      No longer now my thoughts I waste
      On earthly things once loved by me:
      Far sweeter, purer joys I taste,
      My God! in communing with thee.
                                                     Charlotte Elliott

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