Upon the sixth day of the week
The first man had his birth,
In God’s own im­age bright and pure
Created from the earth.

Upon the sixth day of the week
The se­cond Ad­am died,
And by the se­cond Ad­am’s death
Man was re­vi­vi­fied.

Upon the se­venth day of the week
God from His works did rest,
And on that ho­ly Sab­bath day
The works of God were blessed.

Upon the se­venth day of the week
Christ in the grave did rest,
The grave is now a ho­ly place;
A Sab­bath for the blest.

By tast­ing the for­bid­den tree
Man fell in pa­ra­dise;
Upon the tree Christ tasted death,
And by His death we rise.

Christ in a gar­den bur­ied lay,
Which spring flow­ers did adorn;
And there our re­sur­rect­ion bloomed
On that bright East­er morn.

The grave itself a gar­den is,
Where love­li­est flow­ers abound;
Since Christ our ama­ran­thine life
Sprang from that ho­ly ground.

He by the Spir­it once was born
Pure from the vir­gin’s womb,
And by the Spir­it once again,
Born from the vir­gin tomb.

Oh give us grace to die to sin,
That we, O Lord, may have
A ho­ly, hap­py rest with Thee,
A Sab­bath, in the grave.

Thou, Lord, bap­tized in Thine own blood,
And bur­ied in the grave,
Didst rise Thy­self to end­less life,
Omnipotent to save.

Baptized in­to Thy death we died,
And bur­ied were with Thee,
That we might live with Thee in God,
And ev­er blest may be.

O may we bur­ied be with Thee,
And with Thee, Lord, arise
To an eter­nal East­er day
Of glo­ry in the skies.