The rest is gain’d! The race is run!
The weary pilgrim’s now at home:
Nigh forty years, nor star nor sun
Shed one br’ght ray athwart the gloom.
Yet, the’ earth’s brightest scenes were gone
Forever from the darken’d eye,
Heaven’s glory in bright luster shone,
And faith could bring that glory nigh.
His sufferings none but God can tell,
But, as his day his strength has been;
He knew the love of God too well
Upon an arm of flesh to lean.
The “peace of God” possessed his soul;
His word was both his meat and drink—
On Christ he did his troubles roll,
And knew He ne’er would let him sink.
God chose the path that He saw best,
And led him, in His grace, along
That path, until he gained the rest
Where, now he chants the victor’s song.
He fought the fight of faith beneath
That well proved panoply divine—
The cross of Christ—the victor’s wreath,
Henceforth, upon his brow shall shine.
His sufferings and his toils are o’er,
His work is done, he’s now at rest
With Jesus, whom he loved before,
And leant, confiding, on His breast.
Jesus! the name, to him so dear—
The name in which he made his boast,
Was heavenly music to his ear,
And sweeter, still, by vision lost.
But ah! his eyes are open now,
Heaven’s glories burst upon his view—
Heaven’s hosts with him in worship bow
And chant the song forever new;
To Him who loved us, in our sins,
And washed us in His precious blood—
With Him the song of heaven begins—
The worship of a Savior-God.
And while eternal ages roll,
This song shall neither cease nor cloy;
To every ransomed blood-washed soul,
Praise in its sweetest, best employ.
And soon will come that glorious day
When all the ransomed church below
Shall be caught up and join the lay,
And reap, what now in tears they sow.
Bristol, October 31St, 1870.