While midnight shades the earth o’erspread,
And veil the bosom of the deep,
Nature reclines her weary head,
And care respires and sorrows sleep;
My soul still aims at nobler rest,
Aspiring to her Savior’s breast.
Aid me, ye hovering spirits near,
Angels and ministers of grace;
Who ever, while you guard us here,
Behold your heavenly Father’s face!
Gently my raptured soul convey
To regions of eternal day.
Fain would I leave this earth below,
Of pain and sin the dark abode;
Where shadowy joy, or solid woe,
Allures, or tears me from my God:
Doubtful and insecure of bliss,
Since death alone confirms me His.
Till then, to sorrow born, I sigh,
And gasp, and languish after home;
Upward I send my streaming eye,
Expecting till the Bridegroom come:
Come quickly, Lord! Thy own receive;
Now let me see Thy face, and live.
Absent from Thee, my exiled soul
Deep in a fleshly dungeon groans;
Around me clouds of darkness roll,
And laboring silence speaks my moans:
Come quickly, Lord! Thy face display,
And look my midnight into day.
Error, and sin, and death are o’er,
If Thou reverse the creature’s doom;
Sad Rachel weeps her loss no more,
If Thou, the God, the Savior come:
Of Thee possest, in Thee we prove
The light, the life, the heaven of love.