There is an hour of peaceful rest To mourning wand'rers giv'n; There is a joy for souls distrest, A balm for ev'ry wounded breast: 'Tis found alone in heav'n. There is a home for weary souls, By sins and sorrows driv'n, When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise, and ocean rolls, And all is drear – 'tis heav'n. There faith lifts up the tearless eye, The heart no longer riv'n, And views the tempest passing by, Sees evening shadows quickly fly, And all serene in heav'n.