We just celebrated our Fourth of July, as my sister and brother were not in town for July 4th. Having strong appreciation for non American heritage (having grown up overseas) and our family being of mixed heritage, I’ve been mulling Rich Mullins’ poetic song, “Land of My Sojourn,” lately. It really appeals to any country we live as a place we can love, find echoes of God’s reaching out to us, and a reminder that our real home is Heaven
For the tune: Land Of My Sojourn (youtube.com)
Land Of My Sojourn
Song by
Rich Mullins
And the coal trucks come a-runnin’
With their bellies full of coal,
And their big wheels a-hummin’
Down this road that lies open like the soul of a woman
Who hid the spies who were lookin’
For the land of the milk and the honey.
And this road, she is a woman,
She was made from a rib
Cut from the sides of these mountains,
Oh, these great sleeping Adams,
Who are lonely, even here, in Paradise
Lonely for somebody to kiss 'em,
And I’ll sing my song ~ and I’ll sing my song
In the land of my sojourn.
And the lady in the harbor,
She still holds her torch out
To those huddled masses who are
Yearning for a freedom,
That still eludes them,
The immigrant’s children see their brightest dreams shattered
Here on the New Jersey shoreline, in the
Greed and the glitter of those high-tech casinos
But some mendicants wander off into a cathedral,
And they stoop in the silence
And there their prayers are still whispered.
And I’ll sing their song, and I’ll sing their song
In the land of my sojourn
Nobody tells you when you get born here
How much you’ll come to love it
And how you’ll never belong here.
So, I’ll call you my country,
And I’ll be lonely for my home,
And I wish that I could take you there with me.
And down the brown brick spine
Of some dirty blind alley
All those drain pipes are drippin’ out
The last Sons Of Thunder,
While off in the distance, the smokestacks
Were belching back this city’s best answer
And the countryside was pocked
With all of those Mail Pouch posters
Thrown up on the rotting sideboards
Of these rundown stables,
Like the one that Christ was born in,
When the old world started dying,
And the new world started coming on,
And I’ll sing His song, and I’ll sing His song
In the land of my sojourn