Christ My Song - 848
Giver of rest! - Human weariness and divine rest
(Horatius Bonar/Johannes Thomas Rüegg)
Human weariness and divine rest.
1. Giver of rest!
This world is weary, weary in its sin.
Oh, point it to thy home of heavenly rest,
and bid it enter in. (PDF - Midi)
2. Fountain of good!
This poor world wanders, wanders sadly on;
it cries, Oh, who will show us any good? –
Yet good it findeth none!
3. The good it seeks
is only, only to be found in thee;
the good that fills and satisfies the heart,
thy love so vast and free.
4. Darkness is here!
And darkness to the light the world prefers;
it stumbles on in riot and in lust,
its every footstep errs.
5. Labour is here!
And the world seeketh rest, but findeth none.
Rest of the weary, pity its unrest;
oh, hear its heavy moan.
6. High thought is here!
But thought is restless like the rolling waves;
it cannot cool the burning breast: oh, give
the rest which heals and saves.
7. Bright love is here!
with all the glow of its delicious smiles:
oh, teach the sons of men the purer love,
love that no sin defiles.
8. Music is here!
But 'tis not music with its dying falls
that soothes the broken heart, or the vexed soul
back to lost peace recalls.
9. Knowledge is here!
and science with its fair, far-ranging sweep:
but the heart owns them not, – its void is far
too awful and too deep.
10. Laughter is here!
But what are jests to a sin-stricken heart?
O thou with whom the well is of calm joy,
thy heavenly joy impart.
11. True friends are here!
But earthly friendship is a dying flower.
O deathless Friend, give friendship that will last
the long eternal hour.
12. And gold is here!
But rest was never bought with earthly gold.
Give to the weary the abiding rest,
which is not bought nor sold.
13. Glad suns are here!
But suns, with all their brilliance, shine in vain;
they light not up the shaded brow of care,
nor banish human pain.
14. Sweet flowers are here!
flowers whose rich odours are like Eden's balm;
but roses cool not the heart's fever-pulse,
nor smooth it into calm.
15. Clear streams are here!
which in the lone high mountain-cleft have birth;
but these are not the waters from the throne,
they quench no thirst of earth.
16. Giver of rest!
who restedst not when here, that we might rest;
pity earth's weariness, and give, oh give
rest on thy loving breast.
Horatius Bonar, The Song of the New Creation, 1872, 106-108.