There is an hour of peaceful rest
To mourning wand’rers giv’n;
There is a joy for souls distrest,
A balm for ev’ry wounded breast:
‘Tis found alone in heav’n.

There is a home for weary souls,
By sins and sorrows driv’n,
When tossed on life’s tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear – ’tis heav’n.

There faith lifts up the tearless eye,
The heart no longer riv’n,
And views the tempest passing by,
Sees evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heav’n.

Recordings none