And is there, Lord, a rest
For wea­ry souls de­signed,
Where not a care shall stir the breast,
Or sor­row en­trance find?

Is there a bliss­ful home,
Where kin­dred minds shall meet,
And live and love, nor ev­er roam
From that serene re­treat?

Are there bright, hap­py fields,
Where naught that blooms shall die;
Where each new scene fresh plea­sure yields,
And health­ful breez­es sigh?

Are there ce­les­ti­al streams,
Where liv­ing wa­ters glide,
With mur­murs sweet as an­gel dreams,
And flow­ery banks be­side?

For ev­er bless­èd they,
Whose joy­ful feet shall stand,
While end­less ag­es waste away,
Amid that glo­ri­ous land!

My soul would thi­ther tend,
While toil­some years are giv­en;
Then let me, gra­cious God, as­cend
To sweet re­pose in Hea­ven!