It is the evening hour,
And thankfully,
Father, thy weary child
Has come to thee.
I lean my aching head
Upon thy breast,
And there, and only there,
I am at rest.
Thou knowest all my life,
Each petty sin,
Nothing is hid from thee
Without, within.
All that I have or am
Is wholly thine,
So is my soul at peace,
For thou art mine.
To-morrow's dawn may find
Me here, or there;
It matters little, since thy love
Is everywhere!