James Montgomery (1771 – 1854)

O, Where shall rest be found,
Rest for the weary soul?

      O, Where shall rest be found,
      Rest for the weary soul?
’T were vain the ocean depths to sound,
      Or pierce to either pole.

      The world can never give
      The bliss for which we sigh:
’T is not the whole of life to live,
      Nor all of death to die.

      Beyond this vale of tears
      There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years;
      And all that life is love.

      There is a death whose pang
      Outlasts the fleeting breath:
O, what eternal horrors hang
      Around the second death!

      Lord God of truth and grace,
      Teach us that death to shun,
Lest we be banished from they face,
      And evermore undone.

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