The dawn of God’s dear Sab­bath
Breaks o’er the earth again,
As some sweet sum­mer morn­ing
After a night of pain;
It comes as cool­ing show­ers
To some ex­haust­ed land,
As shade of clus­tered palm trees
’Mid wea­ry wastes of sand.

Lord, we would bring for of­fer­ing
Though marred with earth­ly soil,
Our week of ear­nest la­bor,
Of use­ful dai­ly toil;
Fair fruits of self de­ni­al,
Of strong, deep love to Thee,
Fostered by Thine own Spir­it
In our hu­mil­ity.

And, we would bring our bur­den
Of sin­ful thought and deed,
In Thy pure pre­sence kneel­ing,
From bond­age to be freed;
Our heart’s most bit­ter sor­row
For all Thy work un­done;
So many tal­ents wasted!
So few bright laur­els won!

And with that sor­row ming­ling,
A stead­fast faith, and sure,
And love so deep and fer­vent,
That tries to make it pure;
In His dear pre­sence find­ing
The par­don that we need;
And then the peace so last­ing,
Celestial peace in­deed!

So be it, Lord, for­ev­er;
O may we ev­er­more
In Je­sus’ holy pre­sence
His bless­èd name ad­ore,
Upon His peace­ful Sab­bath,
Within His tem­ple walls—
Type of the stain­less wor­ship
In Zi­on’s gold­en halls.