« Prev Evening Next »


Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. — St. Luke xxiv. 29.

Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,

Fast fading from our wistful gaze;

You mantling cloud has hid from sight

The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness

The traveller on his way must press,

No gleam to watch on tree or tower,

Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,

It is not night if Thou be near:

Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise

To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes!

When round Thy wondrous works below

My searching rapturous glance I throw,

Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love,

In earth or sky, in stream or grove; —

Or by the light Thy words disclose

Watch Time’s full river as it flows,

Scanning Thy gracious Providence,

Where not too deep for mortal sense: —

When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,

And all the flowers of life unfold;

Let not my heart within me burn,

Except in all I Thee discern.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep

My wearied eyelids gently steep,

Be my last thought, how sweet to rest

For ever on my Saviour’s breast.

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.

Thou Framer of the light and dark,

Steer through the tempest Thine own ark:

Amid the howling wintry sea

We are in port if we have Thee.22Then they willingly received Him into the ship: and immediately the ship was at the land whither they went. St. John vi. 21.

The Rulers of this Christian land,

’Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand, —

Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright,

Let all do all as in Thy sight.

Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne

So meekly up the hill of scorn,

Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross

To bear as Thine, nor count it loss!

If some poor wandering child of Thine

Have spurn’d to-day the voice divine,

Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;

Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick: enrich the poor

With blessings from Thy boundless store:

Be every mourner’s sleep to-night,

Like infant’s slumbers, pure and light.

Come near and bless us when we wake,

Ere through the world our way we take;

Till in the ocean of Thy love

We lose ourselves, in Heaven above.

« Prev Evening Next »


| Define | Popups: Login | Register | Prev Next | Help |