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Draw near, Almighty Father,
Ne'er seen by mortal eye;
Come, O Thou Word eternal,
O Spirit blest, be nigh.
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One light of threefold Godhead,
One power that all transcends;
God is of God begotten,
And God from both descends.
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The hour of rest approaches,
The toils of day are past,
And o'er our tired bodies
Sleep's gentle charm is cast.
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The mind, by cares tormented
Amid life's storm and stress,
Drinks deep the wondrous potion
That brings forgetfulness.
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O'er weary, toil-worn mortals
The spells of Lethe steal;
Sad hearts lose all their sorrow,
Nor pain nor anguish feel.
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For to His frail creation
God gave this law to keep,
That labour should be lightened
By soft and healing sleep.
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But while sweet languor wanders
Through all the pulsing veins,
And, wrapt in dewy slumber,
The heart at rest remains,
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The soul, in wakeful vigour,
Aloft in freedom flies,
And sees in many a semblance
The hidden mysteries.
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For, freed from care, the spirit
That came from out the sky,
Born of the stainless aether,
Can never idle lie.
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A thousand changing phantoms
She fashions through the night,
And 'midst a world of fancy
Pursues her rapid flight.
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But divers are the visions
That night to dreamers shows;
Rare gleams of straying splendour
The future may disclose;
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More oft the truth is darkened,
And lying fantasy
Deceives the affrighted sleeper
With cunning treachery.
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To him whose life is holy
The things that are concealed
Lie open to his spirit
In radiant light revealed;
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But he whose heart is blackened,
With many a sin imbued,
Sees phantoms grim and ghastly
That beckon and delude.
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So in the Egyptian dungeon
The patriarch of old
Unto the king's two servants
Their fateful visions told:
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And one is brought from prison
The monarch's wine to pour,
One, on the gibbet hanging,
Foul birds of prey devour,
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He warned the king, distracted
By riddles of the night,
To hoard the plenteous harvests
Against the years of blight.
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Soon, lord of half a kingdom,
A mighty potentate,
He shares the royal sceptre
And dwells in princely state.
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But ah! how deep the secrets
The holy sleeper sees
To whom Christ shows His highest,
Most sacred mysteries.
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For God's most faithful servant
The clouds were rolled away,
And John beheld the wonders
That sealed from mortals lay.
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The Lamb of God, encrimsoned
With sacrificial stains,
Alone the Book can open
That destiny contains.
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By His strong hand is wielded
A keen, two-edgèd brand
That, flashing like the lightning,
Smites swift on either hand.
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Before His bar of judgment
Both soul and body lie;
He whom that dread sword smiteth
The second death shall die.
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Yet mercy tempers justice,
And few the Avenger sends
(Whose guilt is past all pardon)
To death that never ends.
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To Him the Father yieldeth
The judgment-seat of Heaven;
To Him a Name excelling
All other names is given.
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For by His strength transcendent
Shall Antichrist be slain,
And from that raging monster
Fair trophies shall He gain:
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That all-devouring Dragon,
With blood of martyrs red,
On whose abhorrèd power
John's solemn curse is laid.
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And thus the proud usurper
Of His high name is cast
By Him, the true Christ, vanquished
To deepest hell at last.
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Upon the saint heroic
Such wondrous slumber falls
That, in the spirit roaming,
He treads heaven's highest halls.
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We may not, in our weakness,
To dreams like these aspire,
Whose souls are steeped in error
And evil things desire.
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Enough, if weary bodies
In peaceful sleep may rest;
Enough, if no dark powers
Our slumbering souls molest.
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Christian! the font remember,
The sacramental vow,
The holy water sprinkled,
The oil that marked thy brow!
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When at sleep's call thou seekest
To rest in slumber chaste,
Let first the sacred emblem
On breast and brow be traced.
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The Cross dispels all darkness,
All sin before it flies,
And by that sign protected
The mind all fear defies.
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Avaunt! ye fleeting phantoms
That mock our midnight hours;
Avaunt! thou great Deceiver
With all thy guileful powers.
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Thou Serpent, old and crafty,
Who by a thousand arts
And manifold temptations
Dost vex our sleeping hearts,
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Vanish! for Christ is with us;
Away! 'tis Christ the Lord:
The sign thou must acknowledge
Condemns thy hellish horde.
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And, though the weary body
Relaxed in sleep may be,
Our hearts, Lord, e'en in slumber,
Shall meditate on Thee.
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