Lord of the Sab­bath! hear our vows,
On this Thy day, in this Thy house;
And own, as grate­ful sac­ri­fice,
The songs which from the de­sert rise.

Thine earth­ly Sabbaths, Lord! we love;
But there’s a nob­ler rest ab­ove.
To that our la­bor­ing souls as­pire
With ar­dent pangs of strong de­sire.

No more fa­tigue, no more dis­tress;
Nor sin nor hell shall reach the place;
No groans to min­gle with the songs,
Which war­ble from im­mor­tal tongues.

No rude alarms of rag­ing foes;
No cares to break the long re­pose;
No mid­night shade, no cloud­ed sun,
But sac­red high eter­nal noon.

O long ex­pect­ed day, b­egin;
Dawn on these realms of woe and sin;
Fain would we leave this wea­ry road,
And sleep in death to rest with God.