XIX. A Song of Praise for the Lords Day.
1
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
VVhich in thy Bosom Ly?
Thy Church below doth rest in hope
Of that Felicity.
2
Thou, Lord, who dayly feed'st thy Sheep,
Mak'st them a weekly Feast.
Thy Flocks meet in their several Folds
Upon this day of rest.
VVelcome and dear unto my Soul
Are these sweet Feasts of Love.
But what a Sabbath shall I keep
VVhen I shall rest above?
3
Bless thy wise and wondrous Love,
Which binds us to be Free.
Which makes us leave our Earthly Snare
That we may come to Thee.
Come, I Wait, I Hear, I Pray.
Thy Footsteps Lord I Trace.
I Sing to think this is the way
Unto my Saviours Face.
4
These are my Preparation days;
And when my Soul is Drest,
These Sabbaths shall deliver me
To mine Eternal rest.
