Oh, heavenly Comforter, sweet guest! Hallow and calm my troubled breast, Weary I come to thee for rest-- Smile on my evening hour! If ever I have found it sweet To worship at my Saviour’s feet, Now to my soul that bliss repeat-- Smile on my evening hour! Let not the Gospel seed remain Unfruitful, or be lost again; Let heavenly dews descend like rain-- Smile on my evening hour! Oh, ever present, ever nigh, Jesus, on thee I fix mine eye: Thou hear’st the contrite spirit’s sigh-- Smile on my evening hour! My only intercessor thou, Mingle thy fragrant incense now With every prayer and every vow-- Smile on my evening hour! And oh, when life’s short course shall end, And death’s dark shades around impend, My God, my everlasting Friend-- Smile on my evening hour! [Illustration] Monday Morning. “Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.” --CANT. iv. 16. Now let our heavenly plants and flowers Diffuse a fragrance more Divine; Refreshed by the sweet Sabbath showers, With richer beauty they should shine. We have been wafted for a while Far, far away from this low scene; Been cheered by our Redeemer’s smile, Been suffered on his breast to lean. What has he taught us? what should be The fruit of intercourse so blest? O should not all around us see His image on our souls imprest? Within his ivory palace fair We entered a much-favoured train: Myrrh, aloes, cassia, filled the air, Our garments should the scent retain. And we should pass along the earth, Like birds that live upon the wing; Rise to the country of our birth, And on our way its anthems sing. [Illustration] Monday Evening. “Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace.” --HEB. iv. 16. There is a spot of consecrated ground, Where brightest hopes and holiest joys are found: ’Tis named (and Christians love the well-known sound) The throne of grace. ’Tis here a calm retreat is always found: Perpetual sunshine gilds the sacred ground; Pure airs and heavenly odours breathe around The throne of grace. While on this vantage-ground the Christian stands, His quickened eye a boundless view commands; Discovers fair abodes not made with hands-- Abodes of peace. Terrestrial objects, disenchanted there, Lose all their power to dazzle or ensnare; One only object then seems worth our care-- To win the race. This is the mount where Christ’s disciples see The glory of the incarnate Deity; ’Tis here they find it good indeed to be, And view his face.