“AND FOR THE WEARY, REST”

Of all God’s precious promises The sweetest and the best Is, that to weary laden ones Who come, He giveth rest. ’Tis not of glad Hosannas And streets of shining gold We think so much when we are sick And sorrowful and old. Ah! there are times we feel too sad To contemplate the joy, The great and glorious themes of heaven That angel-minds employ. And weak, and worn, and weary, We long to lay us down, Feeling we scarce could bear the weight Of e’en a glory-crown. That He is “very man,” I need None other proof than this,— That He has “rest” for those who feel Almost too tired for bliss.