Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By I. Death (Slowly, slowly, darkening)Samuel Greg (18041877)
S
The evening hours roll on;
And soon behind the cloud-land
Will sink my setting sun.
Their deepening shadows throw
And as I gaze and ponder,
They dark and darker grow.
Which says, “Wait, trust, and pray;
The night will soon be over,
And light will come with day.”
Are both alike to Thee;
Then to Thy waiting servant,
Alike they both shall be.
I cannot pierce its shroud;
Yet nothing doubt, nor tremble,
God’s bow is on the cloud.
On Him I lay my load:
Fear ends with death; beyond it
I nothing see but GOD.
I calmly wait His call,
Now seeing,—fearing nothing;
But hoping, trusting—all!