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HERBERT. (8 4. 8 4.) 𝅗𝅥 = 84. Richard Robert Chope (1830– ).
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Charlotte Elliott (1789–1871).
My God, is any hour so sweet,
From blush of morn to evening-star.
As that which calls me to thy feet,
The hour of prayer?
From blush of morn to evening-star.
As that which calls me to thy feet,
The hour of prayer?
Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When, on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave;
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When, on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave;
For then a dayspring shines on me.
Brighter than morn's ethereal glow,
And richer dews descend from thee
Than earth can know.
Brighter than morn's ethereal glow,
And richer dews descend from thee
Than earth can know.
Then is my strength by thee renewed;
Then are my sins by thee forgiven;
Then dost thou cheer my solitude
With hope of heaven.
Then are my sins by thee forgiven;
Then dost thou cheer my solitude
With hope of heaven.
No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief.
What peace of mind!
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief.
What peace of mind!
Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And even the penitential tear
Is wiped away.
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And even the penitential tear
Is wiped away.
Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to thee.
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to thee.
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