How is God our home?

A dream sublime of a sunny clime,

Whose balmiest breezes blow—

Whose mountains loom and landscapes bloom

In God's eternal glow!

Give me my lyre! I feel the fire,

Unseen by mortal sight—

Oh! vision grand, of the summer land,

I'm fainting in delight!

But words are weak when the soul would speak

Of the angel home above—

Faint visions alone are to man made known,

Of that dwelling of light and love.

By a Spirit