O bless­èd home, that cheer­ful­ly re­ceiv­eth
Thy vi­sits, Je­sus Christ, the soul’s true friend,
That, far be­yond all oth­er guests, be­liev­eth
It must to Thee its warm­est cheer ex­tend;
Where ev­ery heart to Thee is fond­ly turn­ing,
Where ev­ery eye for Thee with plea­sure speaks,
Where all to know Thy will are tru­ly yearn­ing,
And ev­ery­one to do it prompt­ly seeks.

O bless­èd home, where man and wife, un­it­ed
In Thy true love, have both one heart and mind,
Where both to Thy sal­va­tion are in­vit­ed,
And in Thy doc­trine both con­tent­ment find;
Where both, to Thee, in truth, for­ev­er cleav­ing
In joy, in grief, make Thee their on­ly stay,
And fond­ly hope in Thee to be be­liev­ing,
Both in the good and in the ev­il day.

O bless­èd home, where lit­tle child­ren ten­der
Are laid up­on Thy heart with hands of pray­er,
Thou Friend of child­ren, who wilt free­ly ren­der
To them more than a mo­ther’s lov­ing care,
Where round Thy feet they ga­ther, to Thee cling­ing,
And hear Thy lov­ing voice most will­ing­ly,
And in their songs, Thy hear­ty prais­es ring­ing,
Rejoice in Thee, O bless­èd Lord, in Thee.

O bless­èd home, where faith­ful ser­vants, know­ing
That all their works are done with­in Thy sight,
In all their work with ho­ly zeal are glow­ing
To do alone what Thou es­teem­eth right;
As Thy true ser­vants, in whom Thou de­light­est,
In meek­ness will­ing, by that love con­strained
Which shows, in it all its works, the least, the bright­est,
How in small things great faith may be main­tained.

O bless­èd home, the joys of which Thou share­st,
And ne­ver art for­got in scenes of joy;
O bless­èd home, for whose sad wounds Thou car­est,
Where all the sick Thy heal­ing pow­er em­ploy;
Until at last the day’s work ful­ly end­ed,
All fi­nal­ly in joy­ful rap­ture fly
To that blest house to which Thou hast as­cend­ed,
Unto the bless­èd Fa­ther’s home on high.