There remaineth…a rest to the people of God.@Hebrews 4:9

Johann S. Kunth, cento (Es ist noch eine Ruh vorhanden); composite translation from German to English.

The hymn was written in 1731 or 1732, while Kunth was journeying with his patron, Count Erdman Heinrich von Henkel, who was on his way to take possession of some property in Silesia. On the way the carriage broke down, and this delay gave the Count occasion to murmur at the ceaseless unrest of this life. Kunth, reminding him of the believer’s everlasting rest, stepped aside a moment and then returned with this hymn. Koch adds that it comforted the dying hours of Heinrich Möwes, being read to him by his wife in his last moments on earth.

Julian, p. 634

Wie Wohl Ist Mir Geistreiches Gesangbuch (Halle, Germany: 1704) (🔊 pdf nwc).

A rest remaineth for the weary;
Arise, sad heart, and grieve no more;
Though long the way, and dark and dreary,
It endeth on the golden shore.
Before His throne the Lamb will lead thee,
On heav’nly pastures He will feed thee,
Cast off thy burden, come with haste;
Soon will the toil and strife be ended,
The weary way which thou hast wended.
Sweet is the rest which thou shalt taste.

The Father’s house has many a dwelling,
And there will be a place for thee.
With perfect love His heart is welling
Who loved thee from eternity.
His precious blood the Lamb hath given
That thou might’st share the joys of Heaven,
And now He calleth far and near:
Ye weary souls, cease your repining,
Come while for you My light is shining;
Come, sweetest rest awaits you here!

O come, come all, ye weak and weary,
Ye souls bowed down with many a care;
Arise and leave your dungeons dreary
And listen to His promise fair:
Ye bore your burdens meek and lowly,
I will fulfill My pledge most holy,
I’ll be your solace and your rest.
Ye are Mine own, I will requite you;
Though sin and Satan seek to smite you,
Rejoice! Your home is with the blest.

There rest and peace in endless measure
Shall be ours through eternity;
No grief, no care, shall mar our pleasure,
And untold bliss our lot shall be.
Oh, had we wings to hasten yonder—
No more o’er earthly ills to ponder—
To join the glad, triumphant band!
Make haste, my soul, forget all sadness;
For peace awaits thee, joy and gladness—
The perfect rest is nigh at hand.