Like the dew-drops that fall
Through the chill, midnight hours,
Unheeded by all,
On the close-folded flowers,—
E'en so, on thy chosen,
Grief stricken that bend,
Thy tenderest blessings
In silence descend.
Like the showers that moisten
The tree's shrivelled root,
And quicken its branches
To flower and fruit,
E'en thus, on thy people
Descend from above,
In richest abundance
The showers of thy love
Like the glad light that never
Our sad Earth forsakes,
But, as day fadeth, ever
In the star beam awakes,
So certain and constant,
So rich and unspent,
Thy blessings unstinted
From Heaven are sent.
Like the waters that fail not
Their course to fulfil,
Like the wind's tireless pinions
That never are still,
Like the day in its rising,
The night in its fall,
Thus constant thy blessing,
Great Father of all!