The Great Resting Place

The brooks rush downward to the sea,
Arising far in cliffs and mountains;
But mingling soon in unity,
They make great streams from little fountains.

And then the streams, without delay,
Still to the sea's great bosom tending,
Roll proudly on their Winding way,
At last with ocean's billows blending.

And so, oh God, our souls to Thee,
Onward and onward, ever going,
(We are the fountains, Thou the sea,)
To Thy great sea, of life are flowing.

Yes!  One with God, as Christ is one,
No longer tost by' earth's commotion,
Our little streams, their journey done,
Shall rest, at last, in God's great ocean.

— Christ in the Soul XXV. (1872).