When the worn spirit wants repose
1
When the worn spirit wants repose,And sighs her God to seek,How sweet to hail the hours that closeThe labors of the week!
2
How sweet to hail the Sabbath-day,The day of holy rest;From earth's wild cares to soar awayTo regions pure and blest.
3
Sweet day! thine hours too soon will cease;Yet, while they gently roll,Breathe, heavenly Spirit, source of peace,A sabbath o'er my soul.
4
Soon will my pilgrimage be done,The world's long week be o'er,—That Sabbath dawn which needs no sun,That day which fades no more.