Rest for the weary.

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.

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

Pain nor sickness ne'er shall enter, Grief nor woe my lot shall share, But in that celestial center, I a crown of life shall wear. Death itself shall then be vanquished; And his sting shall be withdrawn; Sing for gladness, O ye ransomed! Hail with joy the rising morn.

Sing, O sing, ye heirs of glory, Sing your triumph as you go; Zion's gates will open for you, You shall find an entrance through.