Peace

My soul, there is a country

Far beyond the stars,

Where stands a wingéd sentry

All skilful in the wars:

There, above noise and danger,

Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles,

And One born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious Friend,

And—O 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.