Chobham L.M.

By Steve Brett

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Farewell poor world! I must be gone,
Thou art no home, no rest for me;
I take my staff, and travel on
Till I a better world may see.
I come, O Lord, a pilgrim's pace;
Weary and weak, I slowly move;
Longing, but yet can't reach the place,
The gladsome place of rest above.
Put on, my soul, put on with speed,
Though th'way be long, the end is sweet;
Once more, poor world, farewell, indeed!
In leaving thee, my Lord I meet.