TOILING and watching and waiting,
Oh! how the heart is oppressed;
Would there could be an abating,
And rest be appointed, love's rest.
Oh! it is sweet, and I wish it were meet,
To sigh for a season of rest. With hoping and longing and fearing,
Our hearts are all throbbing to-day;
But life's shining portals are nearing,
They scatter the darkness away.
I wish it were meet, I know it is sweet,
To long for the coming of day. Brightly the waters are flowing
From the throne of our Father above,
Greenly the tree of life, growing,
Kept by the same Father's love.
Oh! it is sweet, and I'm sure it is meet,
To hope for a rest in his love. Cease then, my heart, thy repining,
Hope will be turned into joy,
Toiling to rest, I'm opining,
Pure and without an alloy.
Sure it is meet, and oh! it is sweet,
To rest where there's fullness of joy. Watching and waiting still longer,
Fears have departed my breast,
Loving has made my heart stronger,
For rest is appointed, love's rest.
Oh! yes, it is meet, and surpassingly sweet,
To find in his bosom a rest.