When the heavy, midnight shadows
Gather o'er a slumbering world,
And the banner folds of darkness
Are in gloomy pomp unfurled,—
Think, lone watcher, pale and tearful,
In thy sad, unpitied lot,
By the death couch waking, weeping,
There is One who slumbers not!—
One who, though no mourning brother
Share thy vigils lone and drear,
Loving, pitying, as no other
Loves or pities, watches near!
When the waves, o'erwrought by tempest,
Lift their strong arms to the skies,
And amid the inky darkness
Shrieks of winds and waters rise,—
Mariner, 'mid doubt and danger,
Wildly tossed upon the deep,
Think, o'er all in power presiding
There is One who does not sleep—
One who holds the risen tempest
In obedience to His will,
Who, to still its wildest fury,
Need but whisper—"Peace, be still"
When, weighed down by heavy anguish,
Waking, sad, at midnight lone,
Sorrowing mourner, thou dost languish
For affection's missing tone,—
When thy heart o'er buried treasures
In its uncheered misery weeps,
Think, that gently watching o'er thee,
Is an eye that never sleeps!
And, above the mournful shadows,
Lift thy heart so lone and riven,
Up to Him who 'mid thy sorrows
Wooes thee still to hope and Heaven