For works with similar titles, see Peace.
Peace
Despair not, gentle sister,
Tho' faint with the heat of the day;
Tho' scorched and withered the roses,
Whose thorns pierce thy feet on the way.
Tho' faint with the heat of the day;
Tho' scorched and withered the roses,
Whose thorns pierce thy feet on the way.
Still bravely struggle, my sister,
The pain at thy heart shall cease;
Thou shalt hear in thy deepest anguish
The voice of the Master—"Peace."
The pain at thy heart shall cease;
Thou shalt hear in thy deepest anguish
The voice of the Master—"Peace."
Find rest in this peace, sweet sister,
Thou art worn with the toil of the day;
The roses died in life's morning,
The thorns pierce thy feet on the way.
Thou art worn with the toil of the day;
The roses died in life's morning,
The thorns pierce thy feet on the way.