This World Is Not My Home Jim Reeves
This [D]world is not my home, I'm j[G]ust a passing t[D]hru,
My treasures are laid up, [E7]somewhere beyond the b[A]lue.
The[D] angels beckon [D7]me from [G7]heaven's open [D]door,
And I can't feel at [B7]home [G]in this [D]world [A7]anymo[D]re.
Oh [D]Lord, oh Lord, You know I [G]have no friend like [D]you;
If heaven's not my home, then [E]Lord, what will I [A]do?
The [D]angels beck on [D7]me from h[G7]eaven's open [D]door,
And I can't feel at [B7]home [G]in this w[D]orld [A7]anym[D]ore.
They're all expecting me, and that's one thing I know;
my Saviour pardoned me, and now I am on ward go.
I know he'll take me thru, tho' I am weak and poor,
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
I have a loving mother, up in the Glory land;
I don't expect to stop until I shake her hand;
She's waiting now for me in heaven's open door,
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
Just up in Glory land we'll live eternally,
The saints on ev'ry hand are shouting victory,
their song of sweetest praise
drift back from heaven's shore,
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
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