On the weary waves of the world
To and fro
This tired life of mine has been whirled!
In the flow
And ebb of every dangerous tide
My thoughts have drifted far and wide,
As on a bleak and bare hill-side
Drifts the snow.

I sought for rest afar, afar,
But found it not;
I dreamed sweet dreams, if such things are
Sweet which we wot
Are false. I woke again to know
The weight of an unceasing woe,
And journeyed onward, bending low
To a hard lot.

At length to my weary soul I said,
"Soul of mite,
The empty restless life thou hast led,
In shade and shine,
In winter's cold and angry beat,
In summer's languid parching heat—
Poor soul!" I said, "It is not meet
Such fate be thine.

"There is a rest, oh! my tired soul,
Far away,
We soon may reach that happy goal
Beyond to-day.
Far, far beyond those darkening skies
There is a Land which Rest supplies—
Peace, endless peace, that never dies.
Come away!"