How happy is the peaceful breast,
No agitating strife that knows;--
Through which the stream of holy rest
In one unbroken current flows?

To few, alas, that rest is given;--
And who can claim it as his own,
But he, who makes his heart a heaven,
And seats Jehovah on its throne.

Jehovah! Sovereign of the soul!
He has no throne but that within;
And grief and strife can ne'er control,
Where God destroys the reign of sin.

'Tis sin, that agitates the mind,
While sorrow, like the clouded sky,
Illumin'd soon, leaves nough behind,
But fields of light and purity.