S. M.
Montgomery.
O, where shall rest be found,
Rest for the weary soul?
’Twere vain the ocean depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole:
The world can never give
The rest for which we sigh;
’Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.
In Thee we end our quest;
Alone are found in Thee
The life of perfect love,—the rest
Of immortality.
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