There’s peace and rest in pa­ra­dise,
In wea­ry hours we say;
And oh that we had wings like doves
That we might flee away!

For here so strong the ev­il seems,
So weak ap­pears the good,
Our stand­ard wa­vers in the rush
Of ev­il, like a flood.

At times, through the long lone­ly watch,
Nor sun nor moon ap­pears;
Without, in­ces­sant fight­ings are,
Within, in­ces­sant fears.

Then for the qui­et land we long,
And the abode of peace;
And for the word, Come, wea­ry soul,
From war and vi­gil cease!

But in our strong­er hours we grasp
The war­ri­or’s sword again,
And burn the good fight yet to fight,
The faith­ful watch main­tain.

We fain would tread the fa­mous way
Martyrs and saints have trod;
The hours ebb fast of this one day
Of nob­lest war for God!

The Lord Him­self hath need of us;
On! till the fight be won;
And the King’s words shall thrill the heart:
Servant of God, well done!