397b Bedan
O, cease, my wand'ring soul, On restless wing to roam; All this wide world, to either pole, Has not for thee a home. Behold the ark of God! Behold the open door; Oh! haste to gain that dear abode, And rove, my soul, no more. There safe thou shalt abide, There sweet shall be thy rest; And ev'ry longing satisfied, With full salvation blest. |