My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here

My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here,Then why should I tremble when trials are near?Be hushed, my sad spirit, the worst that can comeBut shortens my journey, and hastens me home.

It is not for me to be seeking my bliss,Or building my hopes in a region like this;I look for a city that hands have not piled,I pant for a country by sin undefiled.

The thorn and the thistle around me may grow,I would not lie down upon roses below;I ask not my portion, I seek not my rest,Till I find them forever on Jesus' breast.

Afflictions may press me, they cannot destroy;One glimpse of his love turns them all into joy;And the bitterest tears, if he smile but on them,Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem.

Let doubt, then, and danger, my progress oppose,They only make heaven more sweet at its close;Come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,An hour with my God will make up for them all.

A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,I march on in haste through an enemy's land;The road may be rough, but it cannot be long:I'll smooth it with hope, and I'll cheer it with song.