|Stanza||Poetry Source by First Line|
How happy’s ev’ry child of grace
Who knows his sins forgiv’n!
“This earth,” he cries, “is not my place,
I seek my home in heav’n.
A country far from mortal sight,
Yet O by faith I see
The land of rest the saints’ delight,
The heav’n prepared for me.”
How happy every child of grace, Stanza 1
O, what a blessed hope is ours
While here on earth we stay.
We more than taste the heav’nly pow’rs
And antedate that day.
We feel the resurrection near,
Our life in Christ concealed,
And with His glorious presence here
Our earthen vessels filled.
How happy every child of grace, Stanza 7