1 The Sunday is here!
It cometh, sent to us from heaven!
It stilleth the turmoil of all earthly care;
It stands by the wayside,
It preaches the blessings
Which God us doth give,
Which God us doth give.

2 The Sunday is here!
The chain of the plow is not clanging,
The whip is not swinging, the wheel doth not turn;
How glows in the stillness
The plenty and fulness,
The beautiful grain,
The beautiful grain!

3 The Sunday is here!
We scattered the seed and were hopeful!
Amen! said the Father; It grew strong and tall!
We rest, while we listen
To rustle of sweet corn
In ripe waving field,
In ripe waving field.

4 The Sunday is here!
Come, let us sing praise to our Father!
He waters from heaven the weak thirsty germ.
Soon clinging and clanging,
The sickles are reaping
The plentiful sheaves,
The plentiful sheaves.

5 The Sunday is here!
What, hoping and loving, we scatter,
Will one day appear in a beautiful guise;
We sow in the dark earth;
Then faith showeth to us
The unfading crown,
The unfading crown.