Yes, there remaineth yet a rest!
Arise, sad heart, who now dost pine,
By heavy care and pain opprest,
On whom no sun of joy can shine;
Look to the Lamb! in yon bright fields
Thou'lt know the joy His presence yields;
Cast off thy load and thither haste;
Soon shalt thou fight and bleed no more,
Soon, soon thy weary course be o'er,
And deep the rest thou then shalt taste:
The rest appointed thee of God,
The rest that nought shall break or move,
That ere this earth by man was trod
Was set apart for thee by Love.
Our Saviour gave His life to win
This rest for thee; oh enter in!
Here how His voice sounds far and wide:
Ye weary souls, no more delay,
Nor loiter faithless by the way,
Here in my peace and rest abide!
Ye heavy-laden, come to Him!
Ye who are bent with many a load,
Come from your prisons drear and dim,
Toil not thus sadly on your road!
Ye've borne the burden of the day,
And hear ye not your Saviour say,
I am your refuge and your rest?
His children ye, of heavenly birth,
Howe'er may rage sin, hell, or earth,
Here are ye safe, here calmly blest.
Yonder in joy the sheaves we bring,
Whose seed was sown on earth in tears;
There in our Father's house we sing
The song too sweet for mortal ears.
Sorrow and sighing all are past,
And pain and death are fled at last,
There with the Lamb of God we dwell,
He leads us to the crystal river,
He wipes away all tears for ever;
What there is ours no tongue can tell.
Hunger nor thirst can pain us there,
The time of recompense is come,
Nor cold nor scorching heat we bear,
Safe sheltered in our Saviour's home.
The Lamb is in the midst; and those
Who followed Him through shame and woes,
Are crowned with honour, joy, and peace.
The dry bones gather life again,
One Sabbath over all shall reign,
Wherein all toil and labour cease.
There is untroubled calm and light,
No gnawing care shall mar our rest;
Ye weary, heed this word aright,
Come, lean upon your Saviour's breast.
Fain would I linger here no more,
Fain to yon happier world upsoar,
And join that bright expectant band.
Oh raise, my soul, the joyful song
That rings through yon triumphant throng;
Thy perfect rest is nigh at hand.
|First Line:||Yes, there remaineth yet a rest!|
|Title:||Yes, there remaineth yet a rest!|
|German Title:||Es ist noch eine Ruh vorhanden|
|Translator:||Catherine Winkworth (1855)|