Text: | Exile. |
Translator: | Joseph Morris |
I’ll spend my few remaining days,
While here ordained to roam,
As exiles do in distant lands,
I’ll think of nought but home.
Wistful upon the strand I gaze
Toward heaven, my country’s shore,
Expecting hence ere long to sail,
And sin and weep no more.
When I depart for other worlds,
What friend will cleave to me?
None, none, how well soe’er beloved—
Dear Jesus, none but Thee.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | I'll spend my few remaining days |
Title: | Exile. |
Translator: | Joseph Morris (1854) |
Meter: | 8,6,8,6 |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1854 |