by Henry Vaughan
My
soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where
stands a winged sentry
All skillful in the wars.
There,
above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,
And
One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He
is thy gracious friend,
And (Oh, my Soul awake!)
Did
in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If
thou canst get but thither
There grows the flower of peace,
The
rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress and thy ease;
Leave
then thy foolish rangers;
For none can thee secure
But
One who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.