Thou sore-oppress'd,

The Sabbath rest

In yon still grave art keeping!

All thy labour now is done,

Past is all Thy weeping!

The strife is o'er,

Nought hurts Thee more,

The heart at last hath slumber'd,

That in conflict sore for us

Bore our sins unnumber'd.

Thou awful tomb,

Once fill'd with gloom!

How blessed and how holy

Art thou now, since in the grave

Slept the Saviour lowly!

How calm and blest

The dead now rest

Who in the Lord departed!

All their works do follow them,

Yes, they sleep glad-hearted.

O lead us Thou

To rest e'en now,

With all who, sorely anguish'd

'Neath the burden of their sins,

Long in woe have languish'd.

O Blessed Rock!

Soon grant Thy flock

To see Thy Sabbath morning!

Strife and pain will all be past

When that day is dawning.