God Hath Sworn To Lift On High

Sweet Is The Smile Of Home; The Mutual Look When Hearts Are Of Each Other Sure.

The Trivial Round, The Common Task,would Furnish All We Ought To Ask.

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.

Give Us Grace To Listen Well.

When The Shore Is Won At Last, Who Will Count The Billow Past?