All the Day.

—Stuart Chisholm.

WHEN the earliest ray of morning
Shines aslant from the eastern sky,
Mountain-tops and hills adorning,
With a beauty that gladdens the eye.

Then, Lord of the morning-tide,
Ever with us abide
Wherever our fortune may lead us,
And nothing but good can betide.

In the hush of the sultry noonday,
When the flowers are athirst for rain;
And the birds hide away in the woodland,
And the grasshopper sings in the plain.

Then, Lord of the summer day,
Strengthen our hearts, we pray,
While others may languish and leave thee,
That we may thy precepts obey.

When the mantle of dewy twilight
Falls across the cool evening sky,
Peeping stars come out above us,
And the shadows grow dimmer and die.

Then, Lord of the holy night,
Guard us till morning light,
And make us when life shall be ended,
Deserving to dwell in thy sight.


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