1 There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground, low in the ground.
2 The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturb their deep repose
Than summer evening’s latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.
3 Thou traveler in this vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time's dark wilderness of years
Pursue thy flight.
4 Whate'er thy lot--were'er thou be--
Confess thy folly--kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.
5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemned in wretchedness to roam,
Thou soon shoat reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | There is a calm for those who weep |
Meter: | 8s & 4s. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | Death |