8,8,8,8 The sun has reached his western goal, And night-winds hush the world to rest; Be still, and worship God, my soul, Who through the day thy life hath blest. To God thy Maker thanks accord, For life, and hope, and every good; And all the comfort of His Word Incarnate, for the spirit's food. Ah, night is dark when clouds of guilt The shrinking soul with fears distress; Call on the Christ Whose blood was spilt, And all thy guiltiness confess. Then let me rest in calm repose, -- Secure in Him my rest is sweet; The fears of night no dread impose, If I have worshipped at His feet. O Christ, Who art my Light, I pray, Keep Thou my soul till morning shine; Then, brighter than the orb of day, Illume my path with light divine. |