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.