Come un­to Me,
When sha­dows dark­ly ga­ther,
When the sad heart is wea­ry and dis­tressed;
Seeking for com­fort from your hea­ven­ly Fa­ther,
Come un­to Me, and I will give you rest.

Ye who have mourned
When the spring flow­ers were tak­en
When the ripe fruit fell rich­ly to the ground,
When the loved slept,
In bright­er homes to wak­en,
Where their pale brows
With spir­it-wreaths are crowned,

Large are the man­sions in thy Fa­ther’s dwell­ing;
Glad are the homes that sor­rows ne­ver dim;
Sweet are the harps in ho­ly mu­sic swell­ing;
Soft are the tones
Which raise the hea­ven­ly hymn.

There, like an Ed­en
Blossoming in glad­ness,
Bloom the fair flow­ers
The earth too rude­ly pressed;
Come un­to Me,
All ye who droop in sad­ness,
Come un­to Me,
And I will give you rest.