Like Noah’s weary dove,

That soared the earth around,

But not a resting-place above

The cheerless waters found;

2 O cease, my wandering soul,

On restless wing to roam;

All the wide world, to either pole,

Has not for thee a home.

3 Behold the ark of God,

Behold the open door;

Hasten to gain that dear abode,

And rove, my soul, no more.

4 There safe thou shalt abide,

There sweet shall be thy rest,

And every longing satisfied,

With full salvation blest.

5 And when the waves of ire,

Again the earth shall fill,

The ark shall ride the sea of fire;

Then rest on Zion’s hill.