When the worn spirit wants repose

1When the worn spirit wants repose,
And sighs its wish to be at rest,
How sweet to hail the hours that close
The labors of the week, and blest.

2How sweet to hail the Sabbath-day,
The day of holy rest;
From earthly cares and strife away
To regions pure and blest.

3Sweet day! I think how soon will cease;
Yet, while thy gentle radiance roll,
Breathe, heavenly Spirit, source of peace,
A sabbath o'er my soul.

4Soon will my pilgrimage be done,
The way-worn traveler be at rest—
That Sabbath dawn which needs no sun,
That day which fades no more.