Wait, and Murmur not

O troubled heart, there is a home,
Beyond the reach of toil and care;
A home where changes never come,
Who would not fain be resting there?

Yet when bow'd down beneath the load
By heav’n allowed, thine earthly lot;
Look up! thoul’t reach that sweet abode,
Wait, meekly wait, and murmur not.

If in thy path some thorns are found,
O, think who wore them on His brow;
If grief thy sorrowing heart has found,
It reached one holier than thou.

Toil on, nor deem, tho' sore it be,
One sigh unheard, one pray'r forgot;
The day of rest will dawn for thee;
Wait, meekly wait, and murmur not.