Hail, hap­py day! the day of ho­ly rest,
When saints as­semble and on dain­ties feast:
When all in smiles the God of grace des­cends,
Opens His stores, and en­ter­tains His friends.

Let earth and all its va­ni­ties be gone,
Move from my sight, and leave my soul alone:
Its flat­ter­ing, fad­ing glo­ries I’d des­pise,
And to­wards im­mor­tal beau­ties turn mine eyes.

My soul is now with nob­ler love pos­sessed,
I feel the rap­ture strive with­in my breast;
My heart all kin­dles with re­fined desire,
And bound­less charms main­tain the pleas­ing fire.

Fain would I mount and pe­ne­trate the skies,
And on my Sav­ior’s glo­ries fix mine eyes:
Oh! meet my ris­ing soul, stoop from above,
Jesus, and waft it to those realms of love.

Ere yet the knot of un­ion be un­tied,
And death the lov­ing part­ners shall di­vide,
A glimpse of fu­ture glo­ry I would see,
And taste how joy­ous ’tis to dwell with thee.

But if the wish am­bi­tious is and vain,
Downward I’ll bend my hum­ble flight again,
And to Thy tem­ple with de­vo­tion haste;
Oh! let me there on heav’n­ly fat­ness feast.

There ho­ly souls are with true man­na fed,
There eat the liv­ing and the quick­en­ing bread;
There mix their food with most de­li­cious wine,
And cheer their hearts with cor­di­als all di­vine.

If yet I must not climb the star­ry height,
And see Thee blaz­ing on a throne of light:
If still the veil be­tween us must di­vide,
And from mine eyes my Sav­ior’s glo­ries hide,

Yet here dis­play the won­ders of Thy grace,
Look thro’ the skies and show Thy smil­ing face;
Stoop down, blest King of glo­ry, from above,
Shine on my soul and ra­vish me with love.