O Birds from out the east: O birds from out the west;
Have you found the happy city in all your weary quest?
Tell me, tell me, from earth's wandering may the heart find glad surcease?
Can ye show me, as an earnest, any olive-branch of peace?
There sleepeth no such city within the wide world's bound,
Nor hath the dreaming fancy yet its blissful portals found;
We are but children crying here upon a mother's breast,
For life and peace and blessedness, and for eternal rest.
I am weary of life's troubles, of its sin and toil and care,
I am faithless, crushing in my heart so many a fruitless prayer;
O birds from out the east; O birds from out the west;
Can ye tell me of that city, the name of which is Rest?
