Classic Poem

Lord, grant us grace to rest upon Thy word,
To rest in hope until we see Thy Face;
To rest thro' toil unruffled and unstirred,
Lord, grant us grace.

This burden and this heat wear on apace:
Night comes, when sweeter than night's singing bird
Will swell the silence of our ended race.

Ah, songs which flesh and blood have never heard
And cannot hear, songs of the silent place
Where rest remains! Lord, slake our hope deferred,
Lord, grant us grace.