0 land of rest, for thee I sigh!
When will the moment come,
When I shall lay my armour by,
And dwell in peace at home?
We'll work till Jesus comes;
We'll work till Jesus comes;
We'll work till Jesus comes j
And we'll be gathered home.
No tranquil joys on earth I know,
No peaceful sheltering dome;
This world's a wilderness of woe,
This world is not my home.
To Jesus Christ I fled for rest:
He bade me cease to roam,
And lean for succour on His breast,
Till He conduct me home.
1 sought at once my Saviour's side:
No more my steps shall roam;
With Him I'll brave death's chilling tide,
And reach my heavenly home,
