When men revile thee till the way grows dreary
In which thy feet so long have blameless trod,
When friends condemn thee and the heart is weary
Beneath the chastening of misfortune's rod,
Then turn unto the Master's kind bequest:
"Come unto me, and I will give you rest."
Be not cast down; behold, the roses borrow
Fresh buds of promise from the cloud-wrapt day—
Buds that shall blossom in a fair to-morrow,
And seem the sweeter for the rude delay;
So may the clouds beget the promise blest
"Come unto me, and I will give you rest."
Fret not' thy soul, though now misjudged and slighted,
If thy own heart no condemnation feels.
Thy bruises shall be healed, thy wrongs be righted
In God's own time; He knoweth all our needs,
And gently bids the weary and oppressed:
"Come unto me, and I will give you rest."
