2 Dear are thy peaceful hours to me, For God has given them in his love, To tell how calm, how blest shall be The endless day of heaven above. 614 L. M. Christ is risen. Hail! morning known among the blest! Morning of hope, and joy, and love, Of heavenly peace and holy rest; Pledge of the endless rest above. 2 Blessed be the Father of our Lord, Who from the dead has brought his Son! Hope to the lost was then restored, And everlasting glory won. 3 Scarce morning twilight had begun To chase the shades of night away, When Christ arose—unsetting Sun— The dawn of joy’s eternal day! 4 Mercy looked down with smiling eye When our Immanuel left the dead; Faith marked his bright ascent on high, And Hope with gladness raised her head. 5 God’s goodness let us bear in mind, Who to his saints this day has given, For rest and serious joy designed, To fit us for the bliss of heaven. 615 L. M. Lord’s-day evening. Sweet is the fading light of eve; And soft the sunbeams lingering there; For these blest hours the world I leave, Wafted on wings of praise and prayer. 2 The time, how lovely and how still! Peace shines and smiles on all below: The plain, the stream, the wood, the hill, All fair with evening’s setting glow. 3 Season of rest! the tranquil soul Feels the sweet calm, and melts to love, And while these sacred moments roll, Faith sees a smiling heaven above. 4 Nor will our days of toil be long; Our pilgrimage will soon be trod, And we shall join the ceaseless song, The endless sabbath of our God. 616 L. M. Return unto thy rest, O my soul. Psalm 116:7. Another six days’ work is done; Another day of rest begun, Return, my soul, enjoy the rest, Improve the day thy God hath blest. 2 O that our thoughts and thanks may rise, As grateful incense to the skies; And draw from heaven that sweet repose Which none but he that feels it knows. 3 This heavenly calm within the breast Is the dear pledge of glorious rest, Which for the Church of God remains, The end of cares, the end of pains. 617 L. M. There remaineth a rest to the people of God. Heb. 4:9. Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love; But there’s a nobler rest above; To that our laboring souls aspire, With ardent pangs of strong desire. 2 No more fatigue, no more distress, Nor sin nor death shall reach the place; No groans to mingle with the songs Which warble from immortal tongues.