There is an hour of peaceful rest,
To mourning wand’rers given;
There is a joy for souls distressed,
A balm for every wounded breast,
’Tis found above in Heav’n.

There is a soft, a downy bed,
Far from these shades of even—
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head
And find repose in Heaven.

There is a home for weary souls
By sin and sorrow driven;
When tossed on life’s tempestuous shoals,
When storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear but Heav’n.

There, faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
To brighter prospects given;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in Heav’n.

There, fragrant flowers, immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There, rays divine disperse the gloom:
Beyond the confines of the tomb,
Appears the dawn of Heav’n.