Come to the place of pray­er, the day is past and gone,
And on the si­lent air, the voice of praise is borne:
Sweet is the hour of rest, plea­sant the heart’s low sigh,
The glow with­in our breast, and the hope be­yond the sky.

Yes, tune­ful is the sound of Chris­tians as they sing;
Welcome the glo­ry round, shed from the Spir­it’s wing;
But bliss more sweet and still than aught on earth e’er gave,
Our yearn­ing souls shall fill in the world be­yond the grave.

Earth with her dreams shall fade, our bo­dies turn to dust;
Our souls shall soar and sing in man­sions of the just;
We lift our trust­ing eyes from hills our fa­thers trod,
To qui­et in the skies, to the Sab­bath of our God.