# Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/Evening Prayer

EVENING PRAYER.
WHILE slow and soft the evening ray expires,
And lights devotion's meek, unwavering fires,
While dark rob'd night, on her composing breast,
Lulls all the vexing cares of earth to rest,
My soul once more from vain delusions free,
Lifts up her hopes and her desires to thee;
Low at thy much lov'd name her spirits bend,
Eternal Father, and eternal Friend!
Still as thine hand my op'ning journey gilds,
Thine arm supports me, and thy favour shields;
My hoard supplies, my downy couch prepares,
Gives all my gifts, and comforts all my cares.
How can my heart such deeds of love forget?
How turn away from its increasing debt?
How hang on earthly hopes with fruitless pain,
And wounded oft, so oft return again?
Yet while these scenes of joy around me rise,
My conscious bosom heaves repentant sighs,
Some turbid springs the chrystal fount pollute,
Some noxious roots, display their bitter fruit,
And ere the glow of grateful joy can rise,
At memory's stern demand it fades and dies;
"Have not thine eyes been blind, thy feelings cold?
Hast thou not wander'd from thy shepherd's fold?"
Oh, raise again thy suppliant! let her see,
Her hope renew'd, her pardon seal'd by thee,
Her foot made firm to press this troubled soil,
Her arm made strong, for each appointed toil,
And when the heart shall ask, the knee shall bend,
Still to those prayers thy favouring ear extend.
Oh, break these ties of vanity, that bind
In sway so strict the free, immortal mind,
Unseal my eyes, dispel the powers that keep
The cold, dull heart in this perpetual sleep;
Let thy blest name awake my warmest praise,
Thy presence awe me, and thy comforts raise,
Thy Spirit cleanse, thy grace destroy my sin,
Thy mercy soothe me when my days decline,
Thine arm support me on that chilling flood
Which shuts my mourning soul from Heaven and God.
Oh, place before my eyes in sad array
The solemn scenes of that departing day.
The withered form, the weak and powerless hand,
The chill, cold drops that on the temples stand,
The faint, lost voice, the long and bursting sigh,
The last light fading from the started eye,
The slow, deep groan by racking torture wrung,
The last, sad dirge by trembling mourner's sung,
The ghastly cheek, the heaving bosom pain'd,
The heart-strings rent, the nerve of anguish strain'd,
The death-dews resting on the stiffen'd form,
The ready pit, the darkness, and the worm!
Ev'n at this distant view my spirits fade,
And life's quick pulse moves fluttering and afraid; But hark! a secret sound is in my ear,
"Fear not (it seems to say,) for I am near;
For tho' this form of clay may sink in pain,
From earth first drawn, and bound to earth again,
Yet no dark vault shall claim the deathless mind,
No chains of hell the struggling soul shall bind,
That like a captive naked and afraid,
Perceives its fetters burst, its ransom paid,
Its crimes eras'd, its many sins forgiven,
And short the way to an accepting Heaven."
This voice, everlasting Friend, is thine!
I cannot fear, or murmur, or repine; I rise securely, and securely sleep,
For near my bed thy watchful spirits keep,
And on my waking eye thine eye is bent,
And to my feeble steps thine aid is lent,
And on my ear thy voice of promise sighs,
And in my heart thy planted hopes arise.
What shall I dread tho' joy be drown'd in tears,
And life be dark with frowns, and death with fears?
If thou wilt only deign my steps to guide,
My heart to cheer, and o'er my thoughts preside;
Then with firm step each thorny path I'll tread,
To trials bow my unrepining head,
Bare my meek breast to each appointed dart,
With calmness feel the last convulsive start,
For thou wilt bear my sinking spirit up,
God of my life, and fountain of my hope.