Thou art a day of mirth: And, where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. Oh, let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven; Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, Fly hand in hand to Heaven! It is the custom at Donaldson Manor to close the Sabbath evening with sacred music. Annie, at her father's request, played while we all sang his favorite evening hymn, which I here transcribe. EVENING HYMN. Father! by Thy love and power, Comes again the evening hour; Light hath vanish'd, labors cease, Weary creatures rest, in peace. Those, whose genial dews distil On the lowliest weed that grows Father! guard our couch from ill, Lull thy creatures to repose. We to Thee ourselves resign, Let our latest thoughts be Thine. Saviour! to thy Father bear This our feeble evening prayer; Thou hast seen how oft to-day We, like sheep, have gone astray; Worldly thoughts and thoughts of pride, Wishes to Thy cross untrue, Secret faults and undescried Meet Thy spirit-piercing view. Blessed Saviour! yet, through Thee, Pray that these may pardon'd be. Holy Spirit! Breath of Balm! Breathe on us in evening's calm. Yet awhile before we sleep, We with Thee will vigils keep. Lead us on our sins to muse, Give us truest penitence, Then the love of God infuse, Kindling humblest confidence. Melt our spirits, mould our will, Soften, strengthen, comfort, still. Blessed Trinity! be near Through the hours of darkness drear. When the help of man is far Ye more clearly present are. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! Watch o'er our defenceless heads, Let your angels' guardian host Keep all evil from our beds, Till the flood of morning rays Wake as to a song of praise.[1] CHAPTER VIII.