“They that believe do enter into rest.”
Yes—even here, in this dark world,
We enter into rest,
If shelter’d in the Savior’s arms,
And pillow’d on his breast!
The flowery paths of earthly joy
Are not so sweet to me,
As thorny roads, and darksome clouds,
Which drive me, Lord! to thee.
The fragrant flowers—how soon they die,
Scorch’d by the noonday heat;
Or scatter’d, lie along my path,
By angry tempests beat!
Though sore afflictions come to me,
My soul is satisfied;
And longer ’neath the chast’ning rod,
I’m willing to abide.
I never felt as now I feel,
The dark world’s vanity;
I never loved as now I love,
The Heaven I hope to see.
How calmly can I travel on,
While joys and comforts die;
And smile to see my bosom friends
In death’s embraces lie.
’Tis well with them—’tis well with me—
Why should I shed one tear?
My loved ones now are safe at home,
And I shall soon be there.
Yes—even here, in this dark world,
I’ve enter’d into rest;
I’ve flown into my Savior’s arms,
He bears me on his breast!
CHARLESTON, November 15, 1840.