Rest By Abram Joseph Ryan

   My feet are wearied, and my hands are tired,        My soul oppressed —    And I desire, what I have long desired —        Rest — only rest.     ‘Tis hard to toil — when toil is almost vain,        In barren ways;    ‘Tis hard to sow — and never garner grain,        In harvest days.     The burden of my days is hard to bear,        But God…

Out of the Depths By Abram Joseph Ryan

                    Lost!    Lost!    Lost!    The cry went up from a sea —    The waves were wild with an awful wrath,    Not a light shone down on the lone ship’s path;                    The clouds…

Now By Abram Joseph Ryan

    Sometimes a single hour     Rings thro’ a long life-time,    As from a temple tower     There often falls a chime    From blessed bells, that seems    To fold in Heaven’s…