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