In the rush of life's loud clamor,
In the chase of time and treasure,
Calls a voice, steady and tender,
"Find in Me your truest pleasure."
Six days toil, but one is holy,
A sacred time, for rest and story.
Rest in Him, oh weary heart,
In His grace, you'll have a part.
On the seventh, lay burdens down,
In His peace, you'll wear a crown.
As creation paused in wonder,
After six days' mighty thunder,
So our lives need quiet reflection,
In His presence, find direction.
It's a sign, forever binding,
In His rest, our hearts are finding.
Rest in Him, oh weary heart,
In His grace, you'll have a part.
On the seventh, lay burdens down,
In His peace, you'll wear a crown.
Heaven whispers through the ages,
Echoed in the prophets' pages:
"Come to me, all who labor,
Find your rest in your Savior."
It's a gift, not a demand,
A holy day, in your hand.
So we pause from our endeavor,
God's grace seeking to remember.
In the stillness, hear Him speaking,
Strength and solace we are seeking.
Sabbath's rest is not just ceasing,
But in God, a sweet releasing.
Rest in Him, oh weary heart,
In His grace, you'll have a part.
On the seventh, lay burdens down,
In His peace, you'll wear a crown.
In the cadence of creation,
We find rest, a holy station.
In the Sabbath's gentle rhythm,
Rest in Him, our living hymn.
Heaven whispers through the ages,
Echoed in the prophets' pages:
"Come to me, all who labor,
Find your rest in your Savior."
It's a gift, not a demand,
A holy day, in your hand.
So in part a sweet religion,
We find rest, a holy station.
In the Sabbath's gentle rhythm,
Rest in Him, our living hymn.