Text: | So rest, my Rest |
1 SO rest, my Rest!
Thou ever Blest!
Thy grave with sinners making;
By Thy precious death from sin
My dead soul awaking.
2 After Thy strife,
Life of my life,
Thou'rt in the tomb reposing,
Round Thee now a rock-hewn grave,
Rock of ages, closing.
3 How cold art Thou,
My Saviour, now!
Thy fervent love hath driven
Thee into the cold, dark grace,
That I might gain heaven.
4 Breath of all breath!
I know, from death
Thou wilt my dust awaken;
Wherefore should I dread the grave,
Or my faith be shaken?
5 To me the tomb
Shall be a room,
Where I lie down on roses;
Who by faith hath conquered death,
Sweetly there reposes.
6 The body dies--
Naught else--and lies
In dust, until victorious
From the grave it shall arise
Beautiful and glorious.
7 Meantime I will,
My Saviour, still
Deep in my bosom lay Thee,
Ever musing on Thy death:
Leave me not, I pray Thee!
Text Information | |
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First Line: | So rest, my Rest |
Meter: | 4, 4, 7, 7, 6. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1893 |
Topic: | Passion |
Notes: | Comp.; German: So ruhest du - S. Franck, 1716 |