The Land of Rest

Wanderer, rest thy weary feet;

Shapes and sounds forgotten now—

Close thine eyes in stillness sweet,

With thy God alone art thou.

In the deeps of silence rest,

Let Him work His high behest.

Silence! reasonings hard and keen,

Still—O longings sad and deep—

Waken to the morn serene,

Tangled dreams depart with sleep;

In the calm eternal day

Night's wild visions past away.

In the silence of that dawn

God shall speak His words of grace,

Light that round thy waking shone

Is the radiance of His Face;

Yearning of His heart to thee,

Fills the deep immensity.

Gently loosens He thy hold

Of the treasured former things—

Loves and joys that were of old,

Shapes to which the spirit clings—

And alone, alone He stands,

Stretching forth beseeching hands.

Lo, the soul Thy love has bought,

Through the ages, Lord, am I,

Knowing nought, and willing nought,

Thine alone eternally—

Thine, the Bride Thy love has won,

Gift of God to Christ His Son.

In Thy strength my soul is still

Clay within the potter's hands,

Moulded by Thy tender will

Mightier than all commands;

Shaped and moved by Thee alone,

Now, and evermore Thine own.