On this Thy day, in this Thy house ;
And own, as grateful sacrifice,
The songs which from the desert rise.
2 Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;
But there's a nobler rest above :
To that our labouring souls aspire,
With ardent pangs of strong desire.
3 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.
4 No rude alarms of raging foes,
No cares to break the long repose :
No midnight shade, no clouded sun,
But sacred, high, eternal noon.
5 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.