4 So bless each future day and night,
Till life's fond scene is o'er ;
At length, to realms of endless light,
Enraptured, let me soar.
"Abide with us, for it is toward Evening." Luke xxiv. 29.
1 'TIS gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last, faint pulse of quivering light.
2 Sun of my soul, thou Savior dear,
It is not night, if thou be near;
O, may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
3 When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
Forever on my Savior's breast.
4 Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.
1 MY God, how endless is thy love!
Thy gifts are every evening new,
And morning mercies from above
Gently distil like early dew.
2 Thou spread'st the curtains of the night,
Great Guardian of my sleeping hours;
Thy sovereign word restores the light,
And quickens all my drowsy powers.
3 I yield my powers to thy command;
To thee I consecrate my days;
Perpetual blessings from thine hand
Demand perpetual songs of praise.
Prayer at Morning and Evening.
1 TO prayer, to prayer! for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smiles awakes:
His light is on all below and above —
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.
2 To prayer! for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on:
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of
night.
1 O LORD, another day is flown,
And we, a lonely band,
Are met once more before thy throne,
To bless thy fostering hand.
2 And wilt thou lend a listening ear
To praises low as ours?
Thou wilt; for thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.
3 0, let thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;
And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace.
4 Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine,
A flock by Jesus led,
The Sun of holiness shall shine
In glory on our head.
5 And thou wilt turn our wandering feet,
And thou wilt bless our way,
Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day.
1 LORD of all worlds, let thanks and praise To thee forever fill my soul;
With blessings thou hast crowned my days, My heart, my head, my hand control:
O, let no vain presumption rise,
No impious murmur in my heart,
To crave the boon thy will denies,
Or shrink from ill thy hands impart.
2 Thy child am I, and not an hour,
Revolving in the orbs above,
But brings some token of thy power,
But brings some token of thy love:
And shall this bosom dare repine,
In darkness dare deny the dawn,
Or spurn the treasures of the mine,
Because one diamond is withdrawn?
3 The fool denies, the fool alone,
Thy being, Lord, and boundless might,
Denies the firmament, thy throne,
Denies the sun's meridian light;
Denies the fashion of his frame,
The voice he hears, the breath he draws; O idiot atheist! to proclaim
Effects unnumbered without cause!
4 Matter and mind, mysterious one,
Are man's for threescore years and ten;
Where, ere the thread of life was spun?
Where, when reduced to dust again?
All-seeing God, the doubt suppress;
The doubt thou only canst relieve;
My soul thy Savior-Son shall bless,
Fly to thy gospel, and believe.
Praise for Recovery from Sickness. Ps. cxviii. 18, 19.
1 SOVEREIGN of life, I own thy hand
In every chastening stroke;
And, while I smart beneath thy rod,
Thy presence I invoke.
2 To thee in my distress I cried,
And thou hast bowed thine ear;
Thy powerful word my life prolonged,
And brought salvation near.
3 Unfold, ye gates of righteousness,
That, with the pious throng,
I may record my solemn vows,
And tune my grateful song.
4 Praise to the Lord, whose gentle hand Renews our laboring breath;
Praise to the Lord, who makes his saints
Triumphant e'en in death.
A Morning Song. For a Child.
1 MY God! who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise,
And, to give light to all below,
Doth send him round the skies.
2 When, from the chambers of the east, His morning race begins,
He never tires, nor stops to rest,
But round the world he shines.
3 So, like the sun, would I fulfil
The business of the day,
Begin my work betimes, and still
March on my heavenly way.
4 Give me, O Lord, thy early grace,
Nor let my soul complain
That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain.
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