My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here,
Then why should I murmur when trials are near?
Be hushed my sad spirit; the worst that can come
But shortens the journey and hastens me 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.
Let trial and danger my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,
A home with my God then will make up for all.
With Christ in my heart, and His word in my hand,
I travel in haste, through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
So I journey on, with the conqueror's song.
