1. Come, come, come,
Come to the sunset tree,
The day is past and gone;
The woodsman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done;
The twilight star is heav'n,
And the summer dew to flow'rs,
And rest to us is giv'n,
By the cool soft ev'ning hours.
CHORUS
Come, come, come, Come to the sunset tree,
The day is past and gone;
The woodsman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.
2. Sweet is the hour of rest,
Pleasant the wood's low sigh,
And the gleaming of the west,
And the turf whereon we lie;
When the burthen and the heat,
Of labour's task are o'er,
And kindly voices greet,
The tir'd one at his door.
(CHORUS)
3. Yes tuneful is the sound,
That dwells in whisp'ring boughs,
Welcome the freshness round,
And the gale that fans our brows;
But rest more sweet and still,
Than even nightfall gave,
Our yearning hearts shall fill,
In the world beyond the grave.
(CHORUS)
4. There shall no tempests blow;
No scorching noontide beat,
There shall be no more snow,
No weary wand'ring feet;
So we lift our trusting eyes,
From the hills our fathers trod,
To the quiet of the skies,
To the sabbath of our God.
(CHORUS)
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