Find in Me Your Rest

Did God make woman, child, and man But didst not make them homes? Hens have their coops, sheep have their folds, Are we then, left alone? Yet found within his Testaments The Lord himself declares: "The sparrow's house, the swallow's roost, Her young she may keep there." His voice is calm, a golden song; The voice I long to hear. Lo, from his mouth, a phrase flows out, So pure, so true, so clear: "For in that blessed day wherein You find in me your rest, Your brittle bones, your molting wings Shall finally find their nest." My rest My rest Your brittle bones, your molting wings Shall finally find their nest My rest