250.  Rest, Till Morning Dawns

1
Rest for the toiling hand,
Rest for the anxious brow,
Rest for the weary, way-sore feet,
Rest from all labor now.

2
Rest for the fevered brain,
Rest for the throbbing eye;
Thro’ these parched lips of clay no more
Shall pass the moan or sigh.

3
Rest, weary one, a while,
Till Christ shall bid thee rise;
And soon, as from refreshing sleep,
Thou’lt wake with glad surprise.

4
Soon, soon from out the dust
Shall all come forth and sing;
Sharp has the frost of winter been
But brightly shines the spring.

5
Let hope cheer those who weep;
E’en now the rays of dawn
Above the eastern hilltops creep
We’re near the light of morn.