Blest hour, when mortal man re­tires
To hold communion with his God;
To send to Heaven his warm de­sires,
And listen to the sac­red word.

Blest hour, when God Him­self draws nigh,
Well pleased His peo­ple’s voice to hear;
To hush the pen­i­ten­tial sigh,
And wipe away the mourn­er’s tear.

Blest hour, for, when the Lord re­sorts,
Foretastes of future bliss are giv­en;
And mortals find His earth­ly courts
The house of God, the gate of Heav­en.

Hail, peaceful hour! supremely blest
Amid the hours of worldly care;
The hour that yields the spirit rest,
That sacred hour, the hour of pray­er.

And when my hours of prayer are past,
And this frail tenement de­cays,
Then may I spend in Heav­en at last
A never-ending hour of praise.