Wild Rose


THIS is not my place of resting,
Mine’s a city yet to come;
Onwards to it I am hasting,
On to my eternal home.

In it all is light and glory,
O’er it shines a nightless day;
Every trace of sin’s sad story,
All the curse has passed away.

There the Lamb our Shepherd leads us,
By the streams of life along;
On the freshest pastures feeds us,
Turns our sighing into song.

Horatius Bonar, The Better Land: Poems by Horatius Bonar and Others, (New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1888), 1.

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