Text: | The Lord's Day |
1 How welcome to the saints when press'd
With six days' noise and care and toil,
Is the returning day of rest,
Which hides them from the world a while.
2 Now from the throng withdrawn away,
They seem to breathe a diff'rent air;
Compos'd and soften'd be the day,
All things another aspect wear.
3 How happy if their lot is cast,
Where the stately gospel sounds!
The world is honey to their taste,
Renews their strength, and heals their wounds!
4 Tho' pinch'd with poverty at home
With sharp afflictions daily fed;
It makes amends if they can come
To God's own house for heav'nly bread:
5 With joy they hasten to the place,
Where they their Saviour oft had met;
And while they feast upon his grace,
Their burdens and their griefs forget.
6 This favour'd lot, my friends, is ours,
May we the privilege improve;
And find these consecrated hours,
Sweet earnests of the joy above!
7 We thank thee for thy day, O Lord,
Here we thy promis'd presence seek;
Open thine hand with blessings stor'd,
And give us manna for the week.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | How welcome to the saints when press'd |
Title: | The Lord's Day |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1803 |
Notes: | Public Domain. |