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 alone in heaven.

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,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
—And all is drear but heaven.

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 heaven.

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 heaven.