Lord, give me quiet rest
Under the shade of cosy palms,
Where sit pilgrims
On their way to the heavenly world,
Where they report thy faithfulness
To them in the rough desert,
Until they forget their distresses
while praising the power of thy grace.
O how pleased is the company of the brothers
Who with their face towards the land
Without one tongue flattering,
Without one breast cultivating treachery;
The dew of heaven on their experience,
An echo of confidence in their language;
They feel longing for their home,
They love to speak of the end of their journey.
Lord, keep us until we go home,
No longer is the path lengthy;
May the sun shine on our soul;
As we draw near to the end of our journey;
May the gentle heavenly breeze come
To meet us in the vale
Until we feel our feet tread
On the height of mount Zion.