There the Weary Are at Rest

I

Courage, my soul! behold the prize
  The Saviour’s love provides
Eternal life beyond the skies
  For all whom here he guides.

II

The wicked cease from troubling there,
  The weary are at rest;
Sorrow and sin and pain and care
  No more approach the blest.

III

A wicked world and wicked heart
  With Satan now are join’d;
Each acts a too successful part
  In harassing my mind.

IV

In conflict with this threefold troop,
  How weary, Lord, am I!
Did not thy promise bear me up
  My soul must faint and die:

V

But fighting in my Saviour’s strength,
  Though mighty are my foes,
I shall a conq’ror be at length
  O’er all that can oppose.

VI

Then why, my soul, complain or fear?
  The crown of glory see!
The more I toil and suffer here,
  The sweeter rest will be.