Classified_ad

[y ("eet are weary and my hands are tled, My soul opprc-scd. And I de i re, what I have long desircd. Rest- only rest. Tis hard to toil when toil is almost vain, In barren ways, Tis hard to sow and never garner gnin In harvest üays. The burden of my day is hard to bear, Uut God knows best; And I have praycd, but vain has been my prayer, Kor rest- s weet rest. Tis hard to plant in spring and ncver reap The autunm yicld ; Tis hard to till and when 'tis Ulied to wecp OVr l'ruitless field. And so t cry a weak and human cry, So heart-oppressed ; And so 1 sijfh wcak and human sigh, For rest- for rest. ply way has wound across the desert yeirs, And cares infest My path, and throuhthe tlowing of hot tears I pine for rest. And I am restless still ; ' twtll soon be oer, For down the west ,ltc's sud is setting, and I sec the shore Where I shiill rest.