My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here ;
Then why should I tremble when trials are near?
Be hushed, my sad spirit; the worst that can come
But shortens thy journey, and hastens thee home.
It is not for me to be seeking my bliss
And building my hopes in a region like this ;
I look for a city which hands have not piled”
I pant for a country by sin undefiled.
The thorn and the thistle around me may grow”
I would not lie down e'en on roses below ;
I ask not my portion, I seek not a rest,
Till I find them for ever on Jesus beloved breast.
Let trial and danger my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close ;
Come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befall;
A home with my God will make up for it all.
With a scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
So I'll smooth it with hope and cheer it with song.
May 18, 2010
My Rest is in Heaven