Thou art a port protected
from storms that round us rise;
a garden intersected
with streams of paradise;
thou art a cooling fountain
in life’s dry, dreary sand;
from thee, like Pisgah’s mountain,
we view our promised land.

A day of sweet reflection,
thou art a day of love,
A day to raise affection
from earth to things above.
New graces ever gaining
from this our day of rest,
We reach the rest remaining
in mansions of the blessed.