  Let us be still before Him. Yet once more That voice hath spoken to our startled souls Which fell in solemn cadence on the ear Of the hushed listeners on Mt. Olive's hill: "At eventide, at midnight, or at morn, The Son of Man shall come, shall surely come; Be ready, for ye may not know the hour." And if at eventide, when Nature folds Her toil-spent hands and sinks into repose; Or if at midnight hour of gloom Thou come, Or when the morning spreads her wings of light, Oh make us ready for the solemn call. Supply our need, of knowledge, wisdom, grace, Dear Lord, that with confiding joy our souls, Made pure of sin and strong in faith, may go To meet Thee at Thy coming. If the sound Of sweet home-voices follow to the brink Then let us hear Thy still small voice of love; Say to us, "It is I—be not afraid." Or if the angel of the icy hand Should find us when no human friend is near And summon us away, then as we lose Our hold of earth and fall away from life, O wilt Thou grant our parting spirits may Go out in silence and be found with Thee. |
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