When the Worn Spirit Wants Repose

1When the worn spirit wants repose,
And sighs her God to seek,
How sweet to hail the hours that close The labors of the week!
The labors of the week!

2How sweet to hail the Sabbath day,
The day of holy rest;
From earth's wild cares to soar away,
To regions pure and blest.
To regions pure and blest.

3Sweet day! thine hours too soon will cease;
Yet, while they gently roll,
Breathe, heavenly Spirit, source of peace,
A sabbath o'er my soul.
A sabbath o'er my soul.

4Soon 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.
That day which fades no more.