MY rest is in Heaven, my rest is not here, Then why should I tremble when trials are near? Be calm anxious spirit, the worst that can come But shortens the journey, and hastens me home.
It is not for me to be seeking earth’s bliss, Or building my hopes in an age such as this; I look for a city that hands have not built, A country not ruined by sin and by guilt.
Afflictions may press me, they cannot destroy; One glimpse of His love turns them all into joy; Let doubt, then, and danger my progress oppose, They only make Heaven more sweet at the close.
Come joy or come sorrow, whate’er may befall, An hour with my God will make up for them all. The road may be rough, but it will not be long; I’ll walk it by faith, while rejoicing in song.
Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847