Unceasing, Lord, Thy bounty flow'd;
Each moment brought me in fresh aid But what returns of love to God
Have I for all His kindness made?
What have I done for Him that died
To save my soul from endless woe? How much have I His patience tried From whom all my enjoyments flow!
Fast as my flying minutes pass,
My faults augment the former sum ! Forgive the past, and by Thy grace Prevent the like for time to come!
Dear Saviour, to Thy cross I'll fly,
And there my guilty head recline,
And my whole soul, that sin may die,
Yield up to influence divine!
Then, sprinkled with atoning blood,
I'll lay me down and take my rest,
Trust the protection of my God,
And sleep as on my Saviour's breast.
Variation from Isaac Watts. 1709.
By Simon Browne. 1720.
All praise to Thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own Almighty wings!
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done ;
That with the world, myself, and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed!
To die, that this vile body may
Rise glorious at the awful day!
O may my soul on Thee repose;
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close;
Sleep, that may me more vig'rous make
To serve my God when I awake!
When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply!
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest!
Dull sleep, of sense me to deprive !
I am but half my time alive:
Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are griev'd
To lie so long of Thee bereav'd.
But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in chains!
And now and then let loose my heart,
Till it an hallelujah dart !
The faster sleep the senses binds,
The more unfetter'd are our minds;
O may my soul, from matter free,
Thy loveliness unclouded see!
O when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away,
And hymns with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire?
O may my Guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep;
His love angelical instil;
Stop all the avenues of ill:
May he celestial joy rehearse,
And thought to thought with me converse;
Or in my stead, all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful song!
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him, all creatures here below!
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host!
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
Bishop Thomas Ken. 1700.
O Lord, another day is flown ;
And we, a lonely band,
Are met once more before Thy throne
To bless Thy fostering hand.
And wilt Thou lend a listening ear
To praises low as ours?
Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.
And, Jesus, Thou Thy smiles wilt deign
As we before Thee pray;
For Thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.
O let Thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;
And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!
Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely Thine,
A flock by Jesus led,
The Sun of holiness shall shine
In glory on our head.
And Thou wilt turn our wandering feet,
And Thou wilt bless our way,
Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day!
Henry Kirke White. 1803.
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.
The rulers of this Christian land,
'Twixt Thee and us ordain'd 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!
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