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Evening Hymn Post by :ram89410 Category :Poems Author :Adelaide Anne Procter Date :August 2011 Read :3636

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Evening Hymn

The shadows of the evening hours
Fall from the darkening sky;
Upon the fragrance of the flowers
The dews of evening lie:
Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven,
We kneel at close of day;
Look on Thy children from on high,
And hear us while we pray.

The sorrows of Thy Servants, Lord,
Oh, do not Thou despise;
But let the incense of our prayers
Before Thy mercy rise;
The brightness of the coming night
Upon the darkness rolls:
With hopes of future glory chase
The shadows on our souls.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade;
So fade within our heart,
The hopes in earthly love and joy,
That one by one depart:
Slowly the bright stars, one by one,
Within the Heavens shine;--
Give us, Oh, Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven,
And trust in things divine.

Let peace, Oh Lord, Thy peace, Oh God,
Upon our souls descend;
From midnight fears and perils, Thou
Our trembling hearts defend;
Give us a respite from our toil,
Calm and subdue our woes;
Through the long day we suffer, Lord,
Oh, give us now repose!

(The end)
Adelaide Anne Procter's poem: Evening Hymn

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The Inner Chamber The Inner Chamber

The Inner Chamber
In the outer Court I was singing,Was singing the whole day long;From the inner chamber were ringingEchoes repeating my song.And I sang till it grew immortal;For that very song of mine,When re-echoed behind the Portal,Was filled with a life divine.Was the Chamber a silver roundOf arches, whose magical artDrew in coils of musical sound,And cast them back on my heart?Was there hidden within a lyreWhich, as air breathed over its strings,Filled my song with a soul of fire,And sent back my words with wings?Was some seraph imprisoned there,Whose voice made my song complete,And whose lingering, soft despair,Made the echo so faint

The Angel's Bidding The Angel's Bidding

The Angel's Bidding
Not a sound is heard in the Convent;The Vesper Chant is sung,The sick have all been tended,The poor nun's toils are endedTill the Matin bell has rung.All is still, save the Clock, that is tickingSo loud in the frosty air,And the soft snow, falling as gentlyAs an answer to a prayer.But an Angel whispers, "Oh, Sister,You must rise from your bed to pray;In the silent, deserted chapel,You must kneel till the dawn of day;For, far on the desolate moorland,So dreary, and bleak, and white,There is one, all alone and helpless,In peril of death to-night."No sound on the moorland to guide him,No