On weary days when joy seems dead and gone,
When friends are false and failure I must be,
And stern clocks slow the minutes' running on,
And sorrow hides in bathroom stalls to weep;
Then sad heart fills despairing head with home,
With thoughts of comfort, gladness, safety, peace.
I count the time 'till tearful veils are gone,
When stern commands, displeasure, all must cease.
Yes, many a day in life, that strenuous run,
The hope of home sustains a tearful face.
This hope: poor shadow of the joy to come,
When then, at last, we end the hard-won race.
Mere harbinger, my haven here must be,
Until I come to'eternal heav'n with Thee.