Sabbath of the saints of old. Day of mysteries manifold, By the great Creator blest, Type of His eternal rest; Resting from His work the Lord Spake to-day the hallowing word.
Resting in the tom today Still the Saviour’s body lay; Wrapt in sleep, from head to feet Shrouded in the winding sheet, Lying in the rock alone, Hidden by the sealed stone.
Lord, with Thee till life shall end We would solemn vigil spend; Close the door from sight and sound Of the busy world around, And in patient watch remain Till Thou shalt appear again.
Still with Thee their Sabbath keep They who neath the altar sleep; Resting from their labours past, Waiting for the trumpet’s blast; When, the new creation done, Endless joys shall be begun.
Jesu, keep us safe from sin; With them let us enter in, Danger past and toil at end; And to those blest joys ascend There in flesh our God to see, And adore eternally. Amin.