Saturday Evening
“Commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still.”
—Ps. iv. 4.
Another portion of the span
Assigned to transitory man
Has now for ever flown;
And ere I taste the sweet repose
My heavenly Guardian’s care bestows,
I kneel before his throne.
God of my life! to thee I pray;
The passing pilgrim of a day,
Soon, soon to sleep in death,—
Let me not spend unthinkingly,
These moments that so quickly fly,
Shortened by every breath.
Ere yet that hallowed morn appear,
Given to recruit the soul and cheer—
Pour down thy light divine;
That while my progress I retrace,
Since last I hailed the day of grace,
Its beams within may shine.
Oh, has that rapid, ceaseless tide,
Of which the waves so noiseless glide,
Borne me towards heaven, my home;
As surely as each day, each hour,
Has borne me with resistless power,
On to the silent tomb?
Have my affections soared above?
And has my Saviour’s wondrous love
Constrained me, day by day,
For him to act, to think, to speak?
His glory as my end to seek,
His Spirit to obey?
Have I his constant influence felt?
And has his holy word so “dwelt
Richly” my heart within,
That outward faults have been subdued,
And inward hidden thoughts renewed,
Cleansed from the taint of sin?
Lord! if my only answer now
Must be these silent tears that flow,
For days not given to thee;
Still let a holier life begin—
A life not thus defaced by sin—
If I to-morrow see.
Then let thy word its power exert,
To quicken, cleanse, transform my heart,
Within thy house of prayer;
Or if that boon be still denied,
With me in solitude abide,
And make my wants thy care.
Now let me peacefully lie down,
Cleansed, pardoned, numbered with thine own,
While strengthening sleep is given;
Then let the auspicious Sabbath bring
Peace, gladness, healing on its wing,
And rest like that of heaven!
January, 1906.