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282

SUNDAY EVENING HYMN.

Another day of heavenly rest
And angels' work is ended,
And to the chorus of the Blest
The last hymn has ascended.
Tranquil as an infant's sleep
Shadows eve the meadow;
Let Thy peace with calm as deep
The wearied spirit shadow.
As of old the Apostle Band
All their labours bore Thee,
Lowly at Thy feet we stand,
Lay our work before Thee.
Pardon Thou the imperfect deed,
Crown the weak endeavour;
Prosper Thou the heavenly seed,
Work Thou with us ever.
283

Thou know'st how sin and error e'er
In all our efforts mingle;
How seldom mortal eye is clear,
Or human purpose single.
Let Thy blood, O dying Lord,
Blot out all our evil;
Let Thy touch, O Living Word,
All our errors shrivel.
Let Thy lambs we sought to feed
By Thy hand be nourished;
Let them be Thy lambs indeed,
In thy bosom cherished.
To the griefs we cannot reach
Breathe Thou consolation;
To the hearts we cannot teach
Bring Thou Thy salvation.
May the tone of this day's prayers
Vibrate through the seven,—
Sabbaths, work-days, pleasures, tears,
Mould us, all, for heaven.
That taking thus each joy and woe
As Thy gifts parental,
To us life's daily bread may grow
Viands sacramental.
 

To a German melody.

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