Poems (Ford)/Rest

For works with similar titles, see Rest.

REST.

Wearily, wearily the slow, dull hours
With leaden feet are plodding on their way;
Drearily, drearily, through gloom and showers,
Sinks into rest the tired and drowsy day.

Gloomily, gloomily the dark clouds gather
Their inky folds across the sky's gray breast;
The world seems weary, and my spirit, Father,
Is weary, too, and cries to Thee for rest.

Sullenly, sullenly the waves are breaking
In heavy splashes on the sounding shore;
Earnestly, earnestly my heart is making
A search for rest, but finds it nevermore.

Pleadingly, pleadingly to Thee it turneth,
As to the ark returned the weary dove;
Longingly, longingly my spirit yearneth
To find a peaceful haven in Thy love.

Rest—give me rest, O Father, in Thy kindness,
Not from life's toils and duties, but from all
The doubts and fears and woful spirit-blindness
That veil Thy face, and hold my soul in thrall.

Oh, life is bright and beautiful, but ever
Some ghostly shadow o'er my path will come,
Reminding me that real rest is never
Found out of Thee, the heart's true hope and home.

Cheerfully, cheerfully the world is smiling,
E'en while it makes the soul a mock and jest,
And with its vain, false pleasures is beguiling
The coul from Thee, its only peace and rest.

Trustingly, trustingly before Thy altar
I lay my load of weariness and pain;
Soon some weak fancy bids my spirit falter,
Some vain thought summons it to earth again.

Mournfully, mournfully, but, oh, how vainly
This ever-fleeing phantom I pursue;
It slips from my weak grasp, thus showing plamly
That, 'mid all changes, Thou alone art true.

Hopefully, hopefully at last I gather
My faults and follies for Thine eye to see;
Give toils and trials if Thou wilt, O Father,
But let my soul find endless rest in Thee.