Dolce. 1 Oh! Land of rest, for thee I sigh, When will the moment come, When I shall lay my armor by, And dwell with Christ at home.2. No tranquil joys on earth I know, No peaceful sheltering dome; This world’s a wilderness of wo, This world is not my home.3. To Jesus Christ I sought for rest, He bade me cease to roam; And fly for succor to his breast, And he’d conduct me home.4. I would at once have quit this place, Where foes in fury roam, But ah! my passport was not sealed, I could not yet go home.5. When by afflictions sharply tried, I view the gaping tomb; Although I dread death’s chilling flood, Yet still I sigh for home.6. Weary of wandering round and round, This vale of sin and gloom; I long to leave th’unhallowed ground, And dwell with Christ at home.