The Sabbath day—sweet day of rest—
Was drawing to a close;
The summer breeze went murmuring by,
To lull me to repose;
I took my father’s Bible down—
His father’s gift to him—
A treasure rare, beyond compare,
Though soiled the page, and dim.

“Old friend,” I said, “if thou couldst tell,
What would thy memories be?”
And from the Book there seemed to come
This evening reverie:
“Good will to men, Peace be to thee!
My mission aye hath been,
To tell the love of Him who died
To save a world from sin.

“A hundred years ago I sailed,
With those who sail no more,
Through perils dread; by land and sea,
I reached New England’s shore;
There, on a soul-worn, faithful band
This soothing psalm did fall:
Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place,
In generations all.

“Year after year, in temples rude,
Upon the desk I lay,
To teach of Him, the great High Priest;
The Life, the Truth, the Way.
And multitudes who listened there
To God’s life-giving word,
Are resting from their labors now,
‘For ever with the Lord.’

“Anon a lowly home I found,
But love and peace were there…
The children with the father read,
And knelt with him in prayer;
And through the valley, as one passed,
I heard her sweetly sing:
‘O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?’

Hold fast the faith, the old Book said;
Thy father’s God adore…;
And on the Rock of Ages rest
The soul forever more.
Amen, said I, by grace I will,
Till at His feet we fall,
And join the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all.
We’ll join the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all.

—by P. P. Bliss (1838–1876)

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