1 When on a summer's sultry day,
The Sun darts forth his rays;
The trav'ler labors on his way,
Beneath the mid-day blaze:

2 When not a cooling breeze is felt,
No friendly roof is nigh,
The languid body seems to melt,
And fainting spirits die:

3 Should some tall rock at such an hour,
A distant shade prepare,
Hope would exert his feeble pow'r,
To fly and rest him there.

4 Thus he who treads the heav'nly path,
And feels upon him burn
The kindlings of Almighty wrath,
Must labor, droop and mourn.

5 Till Christ, the covert from the heat,
His longing spirit sees,
And draws him to a cool retreat,
Affording rest and ease.

6 He like a rock of refuge rose,
And sacred shade extends,
Refreshment and secure repose,
For all his weary friends.