1086
8s & 4s.
There remaineth a rest.
Heb. 4:9.
There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.
2 The storm that racks the wintery sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening’s latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.
3 Thou traveler in this vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time’s dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.
4 Whate’er thy lot—whate’er thou be—
Confess thy folly—kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.
5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemned in wretchedness to roam,
Thou soon shalt reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home.
Montgomery.