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
Of death's dark river, as they fainter grow,
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.