5 We shall meet, we shall sing, we shall reign,
  In the land where the saved never die;
We shall rest, free from sorrow and pain,
  Safe at home in the sweet by and by.

     S.F.  Bennett.

519 Rest for the Weary. 8s & 7s.

Sweet Fields of Eden. (1148)

In the Christian’s home in glory,
  There remains a land of rest;
There my Savior’s gone before me
  To fulfill my soul’s request.

Cho.—­There is rest for the weary,
      There is rest for the weary,
      There is rest for the weary,
      There is rest for you. 
      On the other side of Jordan,
      In the sweet fields of Eden,
      Where the tree of life is blooming,
      There is rest for you.

2 He is fitting up my mansion,
  Which eternally shall stand. 
For my stay shall not be transient,
  In that holy, happy land.

3 Pain and sickness ne’er shall enter,
  Grief nor woe my lot shall share;
But, in that celestial center,
  I a crown of life shall wear.

4 Death itself shall then be vanquished
  And his sting shall be withdrawn;
Shout for gladness, oh, ye ransomed
  Hail with joy the rising morn

5 Sing, oh! sing, ye heirs of glory
  Shout your triumph as you go;
Zion’s gate will open for you,
  You shall find an entrance through.

     William Hunter, 1857

520 Rest for the Weary. 8s & 7s.

Deut. 12:9. (1149)

This is not my place of resting,—­
  Mine’s a city yet to come;
Onward to it I am hasting—­
  On to my eternal home.

2 In it all is light and glory;
  O’er it shines a nightless day;
Every trace of sin’s sad story,
  All the curse hath passed away;

3 There the Lamb, our Shepherd, leads us
  By the streams of life along—­
On the freshest pastures feeds us,
  Turns our sighing into song.

4 Soon we pass this desert dreary,
  Soon we bid farewell to pain;
Never more are sad or weary,
  Never, never sin again!

     H. Bonar.

521 Woodland.  C.M.

Heaven’s Joys. (1121)

There is an hour of peaceful rest
  To mourning wand’rers giv’n;
There is a joy for souls distressed,
A balm for ev’ry wounded breast—­
  ’Tis found above—­in heav’n.

2 There is a soft, a downy bed,
  ’Tis fair as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
  And find repose—­in heav’n.

3 There is a home for weary souls,
  By sin and sorrow driv’n;
When tossed on life’s tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
  And all is drear—­but heav’n.

4 There faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
  To brighter prospects giv’n;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
  And all serene—­in heav’n.