Prisoner’s Evening Song

We see no more in thy pure skies,How soft, O God! the sunset dies;How every colour’d hill and woodSeems melting in the golden flood:Yet, by the precious memories wonFrom bright hours now for ever gone,Father! o’er all thy works, we know,Thou still art shedding beauty’s glow;Still touching every cloud and treeWith glory, eloquent of thee;Still feeding all thy flowers with light,Though man hath barr’d it from our sight.We know thou reign’st, the Unchanging One, the All-just!And bless thee still with free and boundless trust!

We read no more, O God! thy waysOn earth, in these wild, evil days.The red sword in the oppressor’s handIs ruler of the weeping land;Fallen are the faithful and the pure,No shrine is spared, no hearth secure.Yet, by the deep voice from the past,Which tells us these things cannot last--And by the hope which finds no arkSave in thy breast, when storms grow dark--We trust thee! As the sailor knowsThat in its place of bright reposeHis pole-star burns, though mist and cloudMay veil it with a midnight shroud,We know thou reign’st, All-holy One, All-just!And bless thee still with love’s own boundless trust.

We feel no more that aid is nigh,When our faint hearts within us die.We suffer--and we know our doomMust be one suffering till the tomb.Yet, by the anguish of thy SonWhen his last hour came darkly on;By his dread cry, the air which rentIn terror of abandonment;And by his parting word, which roseThrough faith victorious o’er all woes--We know that thou may’st wound, may’st breakThe spirit, but wilt ne’er forsake!Sad suppliants whom our brethren spurn,In our deep need to thee we turn!To whom but thee? All-merciful, All-just!In life, in death, we yield thee boundless trust!