Author: Eliza H. Hamilton, pub.

My Savior, Thou hast offered rest:
Oh, give it now to me—
The rest of ceasing from myself,
To find my all in Thee.

This cruel self, oh, how it strives
And works within my breast,
To come between Thee and my soul,
And keep me back from rest.

How many subtle forms it takes
Of seeming verity,
As if it were not safe to rest
And venture all on Thee.

And yet it was no little price
That bought this rest for me;
’Twas purchased at the mighty cost
Of Jesus’ agony.

O Lord, I seek a holy rest,
A vict’ry over sin:
I seek that Thou alone shouldst reign
O’er all without, within.

In Thy strong hand I lay me down,
So shall the work be done,
For who can work so wondrously
As the Almighty One?

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