Here o'er the earth as a stranger I roam

Here o'er the earth as a stranger I roam, Here is no rest—is no rest; Here as a pilgrim I wander alone, Yet I am blest—I am blest. For I look forward to that glorious day When sin and sorrow shall vanish away; My heart doth leap while I hear Jesus say, There, there is rest—there is rest.

Here are afflictions and trials severe, Here is no rest—is no rest; Here I must part with the friends I hold dear, Yet I am blest—I am blest. Sweet is the promise I read in Thy Word; Blessed are they who have died in the Lord; They have been called to receive their reward; There, there is rest—there is rest.

This world of care is a wilderness state, Here is no rest—is no rest; But I must bear from the world all its hate, Yet I am blest—I am blest. Soon shall I be from the wicked released; Soon shall the weary for ever be blest; Soon shall I lean upon Jesus' breast; There, there is rest—there is rest.