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Soon shall close thy earthly mission ;
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days; Hope soon change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.
AGAIN, O Lord, I ope my eyes,
And why has God o'er me this night
And wherefore do I live and breathe? And wherefore have I still
The mind to know, the sense to choose, The strength to do Thy will?
Is it, to waste another day
In folly, sin, and shame?
To give to these my heart and hand, And spurn my Maker's claim?
Is it, for honour, wealth, or power
Is it, to grasp at pleasure's flower
Is it, to grow unto the world,
No! thus too many days I've spent! To Thee, then, this be given: Teach what I owe to man below, And to Thyself in heaven.
O, bring me to my Saviour's cross
For mercy for the past; And make me live the coming day As if it were my last!
SWEET evening hour! sweet evening hour!
Sweet hour! that bids the labourer cease;
And leads them home, and crowns them there
O season of soft sounds and hues,
Of twilight walks among the dews,