Chapter XXVII: Early Hopes

In the morning I expected,
That I should long, long ere now,
All my eager foes have conquered,
That a crown should grace my brow
War and tumult,
Still distress my wearied ears.

In an agony of longing,
I await the signal day,
When my fetters shall be broken,
When from earth I fly away;
And for tumults,
Hear alone the songs of heaven.

XXXVIII.
EXILE.

I'll spend my few remaining days,
While here ordained to roam,
As exiles do in distant lands,
I'll think of nought but home.

Wistful upon the strand I gaze
Toward heaven, my country's shore,
Expecting hence ere long to sail,
And sin and weep no more.

When I depart for other worlds,
What friend will cleave to me?
None, none, how well soe'er beloved--
Dear Jesus, none but Thee.