2 Blest angels, while we silent lie, You hallelujahs sing on high; You joyful hymn the Ever-blest, Before the throne, and never rest. 3 I with your choir celestial join, In offering up a hymn divine; With you in heaven I hope to dwell, And bid the night and world farewell. 4 Blest Jesus, thou, on heaven intent, Whole nights hast in devotion spent; But I, frail creature, soon am tired, And all my zeal is soon expired. 5 Shine on me, Lord, new life impart, Fresh ardors kindle in my heart: One ray of thy all-quickening light Dispels the sloth and clouds of night. 957. S. M. Conder. Saturday Evening. 1 The hours of evening close; Its lengthened shadows, drawn O'er scenes of earth, invite repose, And wait the Sabbath dawn. 2 So let its calm prevail O'er forms of outward care; Nor thought for "many things" assail The still retreat of prayer. 3 Our guardian Shepherd near His watchful eye will keep; And, safe from violence and fear, Will fold his flock to sleep. 4 So may a holier light Than earth's our spirits rouse, And call us, strengthened by his might, To pay the Lord our vows. 958. L. M. 6l. Anonymous. The Same. 1 Sweet to the soul the parting ray, That ushers placid evening in, When with the still, expiring day, The Sabbath's peaceful hours begin; How grateful to the anxious breast, The sacred hours of holy rest. 2 Hushed is the tumult of this day, And worldly cares and business cease; While soft the vesper breezes play, To hymn the glad return of peace. O season blest! O moment given To turn the vagrant thoughts to heaven. 3 Oft as this hallowed hour shall come, O raise my thoughts from earthly things, And bear them to my heavenly home, On living faith's immortal wings-- Till the last gleam of life decay, In one eternal Sabbath day. 959. L. M. Cunningham. Sabbath Morning. 1 Dear is the hallowed morn to me, When Sabbath bells awake the day, And, by their sacred minstrelsy, Call me from earthly cares away. 2 And dear to me the winged hour, Spent in thy hallowed courts, O Lord! To feel devotion's soothing power, And catch the manna of thy word. 3 And dear to me the loud Amen, Which echoes through the blest abode, Which swells and sinks, and swells again, Dies on the walls, but lives to God. 4 Oft when the world, with iron hands, Has bound me in its six days' chain, This bursts them, like the strong man's bands, And lets my spirit loose again. 5 Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre, Of broken Sabbaths sing the charms; Ours be the prophet's car of fire That bears us to a Father's arms.