There is an hour of peaceful rest
To mourning wanderers given;
There is a joy for souls distrest,
A balm for every wounded breast,
‘T is found alone in heaven.
There is a soft, a downy bed,
Far from these shades of even—
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose, in heaven.
There is a home for weary souls
By sin and sorrow driven;
When tossed on life’s tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear but heaven.
There faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
To brighter prospects given;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heaven.
There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There rays divine disperse the gloom:
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.
William Bingham Tappan, 1794–1849