There Is a Calm

There is a calm be­yond life’s fit­ful fev­er

A deep re­pose

an ev­er­last­ing rest;

Where white-robed ang­els wel­come the be­liev­er

Among the blest

among the blest.

There is a home

Where all the soul’s deep yearn­ings

And si­lent pray­ers shall be at last ful­filled;

Where strife and sor­row

Murmurings and heart burn­ings

At last are stilled

at last are stilled.

There is a hope

to which the Christ­ian

cling­ing

Is lift­ed high ab­ove life’s surg­ing wave;

Finds life in death

and fade­less flow­ers spring­ing

From the dark grave

from the dark grave.

There is a crown

Prepared for those who love Him;

The Christ­ian sees it in the dist­ance shine

Like a bright bea­con

Glittering above him

And whis­pers

Mine! and whis­pers

Mine!

There is a spot­less robe of Christ’s own weav­ing;

Will you not wrap it round your sin-stained soul?

Poor wan­der­ing child

up­on thy past life griev­ing

Christ makes thee whole! Christ makes thee whole!

There is a home

A harp

a crown in Heav­en;

Alas! that any should Thy gift re­fuse!

The aw­ful choice of life

And death is giv­en—

Which wilt thou choose? Which wilt thou choose?