Matilda Barbara Betham-Edwards (1836–1919)

THE LITTLE birds now seek their nest;

The baby sleeps on mother’s breast;

Thou givest all Thy children rest,

God of the weary.

The sailor prayeth on the sea;

The little ones at mother’s knee;

Now comes the penitent to Thee,

God of the weary.

The orphan puts away his fears;

The troubled hopes for happier years;

Thou driest all the mourner’s tears,

God of the weary.

Thou sendest rest to tirèd feet,

To little toilers slumber sweet,

To aching hearts repose complete,

God of the weary.

In grief, perplexity, or pain,

None ever come to Thee in vain;

Thou makest life a joy again,

God of the weary.

We sleep that we may wake renewed,

To serve Thee as Thy children should

With love, and zeal, and gratitude,

God of the weary.