There Is an Hour of Peaceful Rest

There is an hour of peace­ful rest

To mourn­ing wan­der­ers 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.