My Lord, my Love, was crucified,
He all the pains did bear;
But in the sweetness of His rest
He makes His servants share.

How sweetly rest Thy saints above
Which in Thy bosom lie;
The Church below doth rest in hope
Of that felicity.

Thou, Lord, who daily feed’st Thy sheep,
Mak’st them a weekly feast;
Thy flocks meet in their several folds
Upon this day of rest.

Welcome and dear unto my soul
Are these sweet feasts of love;
But what a Sabbath shall I keep
When I shall rest above!

I bless Thy wise and wondrous love,
Which binds us to be free;
Which makes us leave our earthly snares,
That we may come to Thee.

I come, I wait, I hear, I pray,
Thy footsteps, Lord, I trace;
I sing to think this is the way
Unto my Savior’s face.