Come unto me, and I will give you rest!
2 Ye who have mourned when the spring-flowers were taken,
When the ripe fruit fell richly to the ground,
When the loved slept, in brighter homes to waken,
Where their pale brows with spirit-wreaths are crowned;
3 Large are the mansions in thy Father’s dwelling,
Glad are the homes that sorrows never dim;
Sweet are the harps in holy music swelling,
Soft are the tones which raise the heavenly hymn;
4 There, like an Eden blossoming in gladness,