“Hebrews 11: Strangers and Pilgrims,” Ensign, Jan. 1976, 13
Had we a home elsewhere and chose one here?
From home the stranger makes his crying start:
a touch, a taste, a scent, a voice of dear
concern, a look from eyes to beating heart,
a window on the world. The pilgrim sees
a tree beside a gate; then, many trees.
We take an avenue to find our own;
look for a city—Is our town the place?
We love our country, seek another one;
we gain a wife or husband by thy grace,
a home and children, ours. Away—they’ve gone
to find their own. Still seeking, we press on.
The valley of the shadow: Lord, thy hand!
We spirit-pilgrims long—in paradise,
yet still on loving earth—for home, a land
of promise and fulfillment. May we rise,
our flesh and bone exalted from the dust,
in that first resurrection of the just!
No longer strange, but pilgrims of that age,
our reunited families can sing,
not solitary on our pilgrimage,
but companied at work for thee our King
a thousand years; till, through refining flame,
one home, all crystal, radiates thy name.