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	MY rest is in Heaven, my rest is not here,    Then why should I tremble when trials are near? Be calm anxious spirit, the worst that can come But shortens the journey, and hastens me home.
2	It is not for me to be seeking earth’s bliss, Or building my hopes in an age such as this; I look for a city that hands have not built, A country not ruined by sin and by guilt.
3	Afflictions may press me, they cannot destroy; One glimpse of His love turns them all into joy; Let doubt, then, and danger my progress oppose, They only make Heaven more sweet at the close.
4	Come joy or come sorrow, whate’er may befall, An hour with my God will make up for them all. The road may be rough, but it will not be long; I’ll walk it by faith, while rejoicing in song.
	Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847