Valley Of Rest
By Ellwood Haines Stokes
This valley rest be thine,
Rest nobly won, thine by the toil of years;
Rest which has come of struggle and of tears;
Sweet prelude to the rest of higher spheres;
Here, evermore entwine
Such fragrant flowers as grew in Eden’s bliss,
And never bloom except in vales like this.
Home’s sweetest rest is here;
Love’s golden throne! Love’s coronation day!
Love weaves for thee her softest, sweetest lay,
Love walks with thee in love’s delicious way, –
White robed, with heart sincere,-
She lisps of all things, beautiful and good,
And bathes thy brow with tears of gratitude.
Though in the valley still.
Thy saintly years are as the mountain’s height,
Where widening visions burst upon thy sight,
And gardens of thy toil blossom in light;
Bright hopes thy spirit fill.
While tides of joy in softest murmurs roll,
And home’s sweet loves are song birds of the soul.
God’s love is over all!
In measure broader than the broadest sea.
In all its nature perfect purity.
In full “Baptisms” may it come to thee,
Baptisms few nor small,
Then sing anew thy mother’s cherished psalms,
Till altogether wave victorious palms.