44
Rest for the Heart-Sick.
This house, which now we dedicate,
Oh, may we find it Heaven's own gate,
And henceforth, oft assembling here,
In joy or sorrow, prove Thee near.
Oh, may we find it Heaven's own gate,
And henceforth, oft assembling here,
In joy or sorrow, prove Thee near.
SONG OF THE HEART-SICK.
FOR rest the weary cry,
Rest for the heart that's breaking,
Sleep for the tearful eye,
The sleep that knows no waking.
Rest for the heart that's breaking,
Sleep for the tearful eye,
The sleep that knows no waking.
For this my spirit longs—
Longs for that dreamless sleeping,
Where, countless forms among,
There comes no voice of weeping.
Longs for that dreamless sleeping,
Where, countless forms among,
There comes no voice of weeping.
Oh, who could well endure
This world of toil and sorrow,
Were not the night full sure
Which brings the great to-morrow?
This world of toil and sorrow,
Were not the night full sure
Which brings the great to-morrow?
Let none around my bed
Lament when I am dying—
No tear-drop be there shed,
No sound of woe or sighing.
Lament when I am dying—
No tear-drop be there shed,
No sound of woe or sighing.
