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Poem by John Keble


Evening



 Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. — St. Luke xxiv. 29.

’Tis gone, that bright and orbèd blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
You mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness
The traveller on his way must press,
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul!  Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near:
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes!

When round Thy wondrous works below
My searching rapturous glance I throw,
Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove;—

Or by the light Thy words disclose
Watch Time’s full river as it flows,
Scanning Thy gracious Providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense:—

When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour’s breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

Thou Framer of the light and dark,
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark:
Amid the howling wintry sea
We are in port if we have Thee.

The Rulers of this Christian land,
’Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand,—
Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright,
Let all do all as in Thy sight.

Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne
So meekly up the hill of scorn,
Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross
To bear as Thine, nor count it loss!

If some poor wandering child of Thine
Have spurned to-day the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;
Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick: enrich the poor
With blessings from Thy boundless store:
Be every mourner’s sleep to-night,
Like infants’ slumbers, pure and light.

Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of Thy love
We lose ourselves, in Heaven above.



John Keble


John Keble's other poems:
  1. Quinquagesima Sunday
  2. Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity
  3. First Sunday after Epiphany
  4. Second Sunday in Advent
  5. Sexagesima Sunday


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Percy Shelley Evening ("The sun is set; the swallows are asleep")
  • John Clare Evening ("Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track")
  • Charlotte Smith Evening ("OH! soothing hour, when glowing day")
  • Charles Mackay Evening ("Tis sweet at morn among the corn")
  • Joanna Baillie Evening ("HOW lovely, Evening, is thy parting smile!")
  • Robert Anderson Evening ("How sweet 'tis to rove at the close of the day")
  • Thomas Aird Evening ("Those shouts proclaim the village school is out")
  • Oliver Holmes Evening ("DAY hath put on his jacket, and around")
  • Marjorie Pickthall Evening ("WHEN the white iris folds the drowsing bee")
  • Menella Smedley Evening ("It is the hour of evening")
  • Ann Cristall Evening ("IN clouds drew on the evening's close")

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