 | Love's Last Labour Not Lost |  |
295
THE EXILE.
The Exile, from his rock, looks o'er
With wistful eye the boundless deep,
Which parts him from that distant shore,
His early home—and looks to weep!
O! but to see that home once more,
And in its bosom die, and sleep.
With wistful eye the boundless deep,
Which parts him from that distant shore,
His early home—and looks to weep!
O! but to see that home once more,
And in its bosom die, and sleep.
The weary Pilgrim who has striven
With perils on the land and sea,
Sighs for the harbour (tempest-driven)
That shall his rest and refuge be—
Then let me, Father! be forgiven,
For longing after Heaven and Thee.
With perils on the land and sea,
Sighs for the harbour (tempest-driven)
That shall his rest and refuge be—
Then let me, Father! be forgiven,
For longing after Heaven and Thee.
| Love's Last Labour Not Lost | |