A rest to the people of God.@Hebrews 4:9

Samuel Y. Harmer, 1856; written for a camp-meeting collection being compiled by Rev. John Gladding (Hatfield, p. 293).

John W. Dadmun (1819–1890) (🔊 pdf nwc).

A fifteen-year-old girl, of good family, was present at one of our meetings in the Free College Church in Glasgow [Scotland], in 1874, and at the close of the meeting remained among the inquirers at the College Hall. Here she was spoken to by a lady, and was led to Christ. Going home, she told her mother that she was now happy in the Lord. That very night she was taken sick, symptoms of scarlet fever appearing. Prayer was offered for her at the daily prayer-meetings. Perhaps most of her friends thought that the Lord would answer their supplications by restoring her to health; but he had a purpose of another kind. He meant to take her away to himself, and to teach others by her removal. When it was evident that she was dying, she told her father that she was going home to Christ. Near the end, he tried to sing with her “In the Christian’s home in glory.” She caught up the words, There my Saviour’s gone before me, To fulfill my soul’s request and faithfully repeated them. Her voice died away; those were the last words she was heard to utter. Before this she had sent a message of thanks to Mr. Moody and myself, and to the lady who had led her to Christ.

Ah, said Mr. Moody, in telling of this, would not any one have regretted missing the opportunity of helping this soul, who has sent back her thanks from the very portals of glory?

Sankey, pp. 225–26

John W. Dadmun (1819–1890)

In the Christian’s home in glory
There remains a land of rest;
There my Savior’s gone before me,
To fulfill my soul’s request.


There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you.
On the other side of Jordan,
In the sweet fields of Eden,
Where the tree of life is blooming,
There is rest for you.

He is fitting up my mansion,
Which eternally shall stand,
For my stay shall not be transient,
In that holy, happy land.


Pain and sickness ne’er shall enter,
Grief nor woe my lot shall share;
But, in that celestial center,
I a crown of life shall wear.


Death itself shall then be vanquished,
And his sting shall be withdrawn;
Shout for gladness, O ye ransomed!
Hail with joy the rising morn.