We leave Thy house, but leave not Thee,
For Thou wilt ev­er with us be;
For time nor space can us di­vide,
Or take us from our shep­herd’s side.

Thy flock we are: Thy house our fold
Where we to­ge­ther Thee be­hold;
Yet, when we scat­ter o’er life’s fields,
Thy pre­sence sweet com­mun­ion yields.

The Up­per Room has not de­cayed,
Each stone has now a mil­lion made;
In ev­ery land dis­ci­ples meet,
And see Thy wound­ed hands and feet.

Though lamps go out, and home we turn,
We feel our hearts with­in us burn;
And, day far spent, the ve­ry street
Rings, like Em­ma­us, with Thy feet.