Eliza Scudder (1821–1896)

THE DAY is done, the weary day of thought and toil is past,

Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tired earth at last:

By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends opprest,

In Thee alone the soul, outworn, refreshment finds and rest.

Bend, gracious Spirit, from above, like these o’erarching skies,

And to Thy firmament of love lift up these longing eyes;

And, folded by Thy sheltering Hand, in refuge still and deep,

Let blessed thoughts from Thee descend, as drop the dews of sleep.

And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power;

Oh, let Thine image, Lord, alone, gild the first waking hour!

Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than morn’s first ray,

And Thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day.

So in the hastening evening, so in the coming morn,

When deeper slumber shall be given, and fresher life be born,

Shine out, true Light! to guide my way amid that deepening gloom,

And rise, O Morning Star, the first that dayspring to illume!

I cannot dread the darkness where Thou wilt watch o’er me,

Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless Thy smile I see;

Creator, Saviour, Comforter! on Thee my soul is cast;

At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be Thou my First and Last!