The glow has faded from the west,
The splendor from the mountain’s crest;
Stern Day’s relentless task is done,
And Nature rests at set of sun.
But ere she shuts her weary eyes,
Soothed as by airs of Paradise,
She softly prays on bended knee,
“In manus tuas, Domine!”
O silent hours, how dear ye are!
There is no light of moon or star;
The twilight shadows slowly creep
From rock to rock, from steep to steep;
The trees stand breathless on the hill,
The restless winds are hushed and still;
Only one prayer from land and sea:
“In manus tuas, Domine!”
And, O my soul, be sure when night
In God’s good time puts out the light,
And draws the curtains soft and dim
Round weary head and heart and limb,
You will be glad! But ere you go
To sleep that no rude dreams shall know,
Be this prayer said for you and me:
“In manus tuas, Domine!”