My Lord, my Love, was crucified,
    He all the pains did bear;
But in the sweetness of His rest
    He makes His servants share.
How sweetly rest Thy saints above
    Which in Thy bosom lie;
The Church below doth rest in hope
    Of that felicity.

Thou, Lord, who daily feed'st Thy sheep,
    Mak'st them a weekly feast;
Thy flocks meet in their several folds
    Upon this day of rest.
Welcome and dear unto my soul
    Are these sweet feasts of love;
But what a Sabbath shall I keep
    When I shall rest above!

I bless Thy wise and wondrous love,
    Which binds us to be free;
Which makes us leave our earthly snares,
    That we may come to Thee.
I come, I wait, I hear, I pray,
    Thy footsteps, Lord, I trace;
I sing to think this is the way
    Unto my Saviour's face.

Blest day of God, most calm, most bright,
    The first, the best of days;
The labourer's rest, the saint's delight,
    The day of prayer and praise.
My Saviour's face made thee to shine;
    His rising thee did raise;
And made thee heavenly and divine
    Beyond all other days.

The first-fruits oft a blessing prove
    To all the sheaves behind;
And they the day of Christ who love,
    A happy week shall find.
This day I must with God appear;
    For, Lord, the day is Thine;
Help me to spend it in Thy fear,
    And thus to make it mine. 

Both these hymns are shown in 
their modern form.