Blest is my lot, whate'er befall: What can disturb me, who appall, While, as my strength, my rock, my all, Saviour! I cling to Thee? - Charlotte Elliott

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?

Is life's evening long and dreary?
Gone the treasures once possessed?
Is thy spirit faint and weary?
Dost thou long to be at rest?
On this sweet promise fix thy sight:
"At evening time it shall be light."

From human eyes 'tis better to conceal
Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel;
But oh, this thought can tranquillise and heal,
All, all is known to Thee.