2 There is a soft, a downy bed,
'Tis fair as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose--in heav'n.
3 There is a home for weary souls,
By sin and sorrow driv'n;
When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear--but heav'n.