How sweet the sound of rest,
To pilgrims weary of the length’ning road!
With quicken’d steps they seek the blest abode
Where sorrow is exchanged for peace and love;
So flies, with eager haste, the timid dove,
To seek her shelt’ring nest!
The aromatic gales
Which reach us oft in contemplative hours,
Bring back the fragrance of “transplanted flowers,”
And give delight unmix’d with earth’s alloy;
So feels the wand’rer, who, with trembling joy,
The breeze from home inhales!
The pilgrim, parch’d with thirst,
Who hears of Heaven’s pure, immortal streams,
Sees, with a vision bright, in all his dreams,
The river flowing near the throne of God;
So joys the traveler, fainting on the road,
To see the fountain burst!
Fair beauty’s beaming eye
Grows brighter as she nears her father’s home,
While springs the vessel through the billowy foam,
Bearing her on to sweet domestic love!
So looks the Christian joyfully above,
Whose hour has come to die!