Going Home


Praise the King all ye people.
Praise His holy name.
In the distance I see a steeple.
Calling me home, calling me home.
Wrapped in His loving arms.
I hear a sound.
Could it be, could it be.
The sound of chariots rushing forth.
Coming to take me home, take me home.
Home at last I tell myself.
I fall to worship my King, my King.

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