Best in Heaven.

9

P. M.

1. My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here,
Then why should I murmur when trials are near;
Be hushed, my dark spirit, the worst that can come
But shortens thy journey and hastens thee home.
It is not for me to be seeking my bliss,
And building my hopes in a region like this;
I look for a city which hands have not piled,
I pant for a country by sin undefiled.
O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!

2. The thorn and the thistle around me may grow,
I would not lie down upon roses below;
I ask not a portion, I seek not my rest,
Till I find them for ever in Jesus's breast.
Afflictions may damp me, but cannot destroy;
One glimpse of his love turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tears if he smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, turn diamond or gem.
O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!