Thou, Sore Oppressed, the Sabbath Rest

Thou sore op­pressed

the Sab­bath rest

In yon still grave art keep­ing!

All Thy la­bor now is done

Past is all Thy weep­ing!

The strife is o’er

naught hurts Thee more:

The heart at last has slum­bered

That in con­flict sore for us

Bore our sins un­num­bered.

Thou aw­ful tomb

once filled with gloom!

How bless­èd and how ho­ly

Art thou now

since in the grave

Slept the Sav­ior lowly!

How calm and blest the dead now rest

Who in the Lord de­part­ed!

All their works do fol­low them

Yea

they sleep glad-heart­ed.

O lead us Thou to rest e’en now

With all who sore­ly an­guished

’Neath the bur­den of their sins

Long in woe have lan­guished.

O bless­èd Rock

soon grant Thy flock

To see Thy Sab­bath morn­ing!

Strife and pain will all be past

When that day is dawn­ing.