1 Although to me no qui­et home
In this world may be giv’n,
So sweet­ly still the whis­pers come,
I have a home in Heav’n;
A home for me was pur­chased there
With Christ’s own pre­cious blood,
That I with Him its bliss might share
Forever with my God.

2 And if for­ev­er with my God
My rap­tured soul shall be,
When o’er this wea­ry path I’ve trod,
What are its toils to me?
No more I’ll grieve at pre­sent pain,
But on­ward urge my way,
Until the heav’n­ly bliss I gain,
Which lasts thro’ end­less day.

3 Though wea­ry oft and much op­pressed,
Because of tri­als sore,
I’ll on His bless­èd pro­mise rest,
Till tri­als are no more,
And when eter­nal years have fled,
Still all my song shall be,
To Him who for my ran­som bled,
To Him who died for me.