My Rest is in Heaven

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.