Homesick

With silent groans our hearts cry for home,
We are strangers here, in a land not our own.
Poured out like water on unyielding land,
Homesick and hungry since life first began.

Our lives written in blood, all our songs sung with pain,
Like a drought-stricken land, yearning for rain.
Yet all anguish is joy when we dream of our place,
Prepared just for us by God in His grace.

So whether we fade, oh, so slowly away,
Or, like a lily, bloom and wilt in a day,
Whether in psalms or unutterable moans,
Our cry is the same: "Bring us home! Bring us home!"