And saints were edified, and sinners won,
By his, the poor lay Brother's humble aid
  Who sat upon the pulpit stair and prayed."

What wouldst thou have, O soul,
  Thou weary soul?
Lo! I have sought for rest
On the Earth's heaving breast,
  From pole to pole.
Sleep—I have been with her,
  But she gave dreams;
Death—nay, the rest he gives
  Rest only seems.
Fair nature knows it not—
  The grass is growing;
The blue air knows it not—
  The winds are blowing:
Not in the changing sky,
  The stormy sea,
Yet somewhere in God's wide world
  Rest there must be.
Within thy Saviour's Heart
  Place all thy care,
And learn, O weary soul,
  Thy Rest is there.

What wouldst thou, trembling soul?
  Strength for the strife,—