7. C. M. Edmeston. The Lord's Day. 1 When the worn spirit wants repose, And sighs her God to seek, How sweet to hail the evening's close That ends the weary week! 2 How sweet to hail the early dawn That opens on the sight, When first that soul-reviving morn Beams its new rays of light! 3 Blest day! thine hours too soon will cease Yet, while they gently roll, Breathe, Heavenly Spirit, source of peace, A sabbath o'er my soul!
|
|