8,6,8,6

There the weary are at rest.

Courage, my soul! behold the prize

The Savior's love provides;

Eternal life beyond the skies,

For all whom here he guides.

The wicked cease from troubling there,

The weary are at rest;
Job 3:17

Sorrow and sin, and pain and care,

No more approach the blest.

A wicked world and wicked heart,

With Satan now are joined;

Each acts a too successful part

In harassing my mind.

In conflict with this threefold troop,

How weary, LORD, am I?

Did not thy promise bear me up,

My soul must faint and die.

But fighting in my Savior's strength,

Though mighty are my foes,

I shall a conqu'ror be at length,

O'er all that can oppose.

Then why, my soul, complain or fear?

The crown of glory see!

The more I toil and suffer here,

The sweeter rest will be.