Our rest is in heaven, our rest is not here;
Then why should we tremble when trials are near?
Be hushed our sad spirits, the worst that can come
But shortens the journey, and hastens us home.

It is not for us to be seeking our bliss,
And building our hopes in a region like this:
We look for a city which hands have not piled–
We pant for a country by sin undefiled.

The thorn and the thistle around us may grow–
We would not lie down, e’en on roses, below:
We ask not our portion, we seek not a rest,
Till we find them for ever where Jesus is blest.

Let trial and danger our progress oppose,
They’ll only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy or come sorrow, whate’er may befall,
A home with our God will make up for it all.

With a scrip on the back, and a staff in the hand,
We march on in haste through an enemy’s land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And we’ll smooth it with hope, and we’ll cheer it with song.