Return, my soul, and seek thy rest
Upon thy heav’nly Fa­ther’s breast:
Indulge me, Lord, in that repose,
The soul which loves Thee only knows.

Lodged in Thine arms I fear no more
The tempest’s howl, the billows’ roar;
Those storms must shake th’Almighty’s seat,
Which violate the saints’ retreat.

Thy bounties, Lord, to me surmount
The power of language to recount;
From morning dawn, the setting sun
Sees but my work of praise begun.

The mercies, all my moments bring,
Ask an eternity to sing;
What thanks those mercies can suffice
Which thro’ eternity shall rise?

Rich in ten thousand gifts possessed,
In future hopes more richly blessed,
I’ll sit and sing, till death shall raise
A note of more proportioned praise.