Catherine Winkworth · 114 of 207

O ye halls of Heaven

O ye halls of Heaven, Where the holy have their home, They whose hearts were riven, But through faith have overcome; They who here on earth Knew not joy or mirth:

Thee I greet, fair Home, Thee o'er all things else I seek; For o'er earth I roam Desolate, and sad, and weak, Never free below From some cross or woe.

Only for thy sake Have I strength not to despair, But my heart's long ache Willingly, nay gladly, bear; Sweet when I look up Grows my bitter cup.

Did not my poor heart Cherish yearning hope for thee, Long ago its smart Had been all too sore for me; Never can my breast Find elsewhere a rest.

God, Thou knowest well What the pain that hurts me sore, Where my thoughts must dwell, Grieving hourly o'er and o'er; Thou and I alone Hear that inner moan.

But if I not yet Bear a pilgrim's chastened soul, If I could forget,-- Let fresh trials o'er me roll; Thou, my God, wilt bear More than half my care.

Let this life to me Ever grow more waste and drear, If that so to Thee I may cling more firm and near, And no dread of death Shake or chill my faith.

Ah! in that fair place Shall I not drink deep of joy, When I see Thy face, When I meet Thy loving eye, When, like angels bright, I am clothed in light!

O ye halls of Heaven, Where the holy have their home! Be the signal given, End my griefs and bid me come; All I long for is Soon to see thy bliss.

Schöner Himmelssaal