How Far From Home

How Far From  (1848)  by Lydia Sigourney

information about this edition.  Printed in Dowling, John, ed. The Judson Offering: Intended as a Token of Christian Sympathy With the Living and a Memento of Christian Affection for the Dead. Marked "Eleventh Thousand". New York: Lewis Colby & Co., 1848. Page 100.

I hear the rising tempest moan,
My failing limbs have weary grown,
The flowers are shut, the streams are dried,
The arid sands spread drear and wide,
The night-dews fall, the winds are high,
How far from home, O Lord, am I?

I would not come with hoards of gold,
With glittering gems, or cumbrous mould,
Nor dim my eyes with gathered dust
Of empty fame, or earthly trust;
But hourly ask, as lone I roam,
How far from home? how far from home?

Not far! Not far! The way is dark,
Frail hope hath dimm'd her glow-worm spark;
The trees are dead, beneath whose shade
My youth reclin'd, my childhood play'd;
Red lightnings streak the troubled sky,
How far from home, my God, am I?

Reach forth thy hand with pitying care,
And guide me through the latest snare;
Methinks e'en now its bursting beams
The radiance from thy casement streams;
No more I shed the pilgrim's tear,
I hear thy voice, my home is near.

This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.