Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Sweet Rest

Sweet Rest.

Come, brethren, don't grow weary,
 But let us journey on;
The moments will not tarry,
 This life will soon be gone.
The passing scenes all tell us
 That death will surely come,
These bodies soon will moulder,
 In th' dark and weary tomb.
  There is sweet rest in heaven,
  There is sweet rest in heaven.

Loved ones have gone before us,
 They beckon us away,
O'er aerial plains they're soaring,
 Blest in eternal day;
But we are in the army,
 And dare not leave our post;
We'll fight until we conquer
 The foes' most mighty host.
  There is sweet rest, &c.

Our Captain's gone before us,
 He kindly calls us home
To yonder world of glory,
 And sweetly bids us come.
The world, the flesh, and Satan,
 Will strive to hedge our way,
But we'll o'ercome these powers,
 If we hourly watch and pray,
  There is sweet rest, &c.