In this mazy life's career
Joy and pain alternate greeting.
Who shall wipe the doubtful tear,
Who shall soothe the troubled breast?
With tumultous passions beating,
Doubts distracting hope retreating.
Hark, the heav'nly sounds I hear:
"Come to me and be at rest."

When the heart, that sorrows bend,
Seeks in vain its wasted treasure,
Feeble help the world can send,
O how far from being blest;
Mid the fleeting forms of pleasure,
Lingering still with fatal leisure,
On its path the night descends,
Vanish'd every hope of rest.

Lord, beneath thy mild controul
Let me still thy love adoring.
Bow a meeken'd humble soul,
Anxious only to be thine.
Let me through the tempest lowering
In thy might triumphant soaring
View the circling glories roll
Ever round the throne divine.

In the gloomy hour of death,
Day and all its dreams departing,
When the languid lab'ring breath
Pants to quit the afflicted breast:
Let me feel thy hand supporting,
Let me hear thy voice transporting,
Whisper in the ear of faith:
"Welcome to eternal rest!"