Upon the Sixth Day of the Week

Upon the sixth day of the week

The first man had his birth

In God’s own im­age bright and pure

Created from the earth.

Upon the sixth day of the week

The se­cond Ad­am died

And by the se­cond Ad­am’s death

Man was re­vi­vi­fied.

Upon the se­venth day of the week

God from His works did rest

And on that ho­ly Sab­bath day

The works of God were blessed.

Upon the se­venth day of the week

Christ in the grave did rest

The grave is now a ho­ly place;

A Sab­bath for the blest.

By tast­ing the for­bid­den tree

Man fell in para­dise;

Upon the tree Christ tasted death

And by His death we rise.

Christ in a gar­den bur­ied lay

Which spring flow­ers did adorn;

And there our re­sur­rect­ion bloomed

On that bright East­er morn.

The grave itself a gar­den is

Where love­li­est flow­ers abound;

Since Christ our ama­ran­thine life

Sprang from that ho­ly ground.

He by the Spir­it once was born

Pure from the vir­gin’s womb

And by the Spir­it once again

Born from the vir­gin tomb.

Oh give us grace to die to sin

That we

O Lord

may have

A ho­ly

hap­py rest with Thee

A Sab­bath

in the grave.

Thou

Lord

bap­tized in Thine own blood

And bur­ied in the grave

Didst rise Thy­self to end­less life

Omnipotent to save.

Baptized in­to Thy death we died

And bur­ied were with Thee

That we might live with Thee in God

And ev­er blest may be.

O may we bur­ied be with Thee

And with Thee

Lord

arise

To an eter­nal East­er day

Of glo­ry in the skies.