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.

Wm. B. Tappan, 1829.