HYMNS.
337
"Our country is Emanuel's land,
We seek that promised soil;
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,
While strangers here we toil.
"Oft do our eyes with joy overflow,
And oft are bathed in tears;
Yet nought but heaven our hopes can raise,
And nought but sin our fears.
"The flowers that spring along the road
We scarcely stoop to pluck;
We walk o'er beds of shining ore,
Nor waste one wishful look:
"We tread the path our Master trod,
We bear the cross he bore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet
His temples pierced before:
