Tens of thousands round my dwelling Stand arrayed to do me harm; But my trust when foes are swelling, Rests in Thine almighty arm.
Rise, O Lord, for Thou, victorious, Hast the might of sin o'erthrown, And amid Thy triumph glorious, Bless the people Thou dost own.
Light of my life, O Lord, Thou art, No fear afflicts my trusting heart When, all secure in Thee As in a fortress I repose, And evil men, my direst foes, Are baulked that trouble me,
Hosts may encamp on every side, And pallid fear the trust deride That saves me from affright; But in the Lord my hope shall last, Till noise of war and strife are past, And flee the powers of night.
To God I make this chief request, That I in His abode may rest Through all my earthly days, To mark its comeliness and grace, And see the beauty of His face, Whose love inspires my praise.
There shall I dwell unseen by all, Secure when days of trouble call, And evil doers mock; And He shall hide me in His tent, Till all the wrath of man is spent As tempests on a rock.
Therefore to Thee my praise I'll give, And joyful offerings while I live My grateful soul shall bring; For Thou my foes hast beaten down, With victory Thou my head dost crown, And tun'st my heart to sing.
From the hills the light is streaming, Hail, the gladsome morn! Earth with busy life is teeming, For the day is born.
Dawn, Thou Light of lights, undying On a fairer day, All creation beautifying With Thy glorious ray.
Weary eyes the hills are scanning For the early gleam; Souls, Thy long delay unmanning, Sleep, and idly dream.
Ah, my soul, be up and doing, Life will soon be done, Night, the day is close pursuing To the setting sun.
And the day of God shall waken To the soul with fear, If, the call of life forsaken, We are slumbering here.
From the hills the light is streaming, Hail the gladsome morn! And the light of God is beaming,-- This, His day, is born.
The day declines to night, The shadows lengthening fall, And see, the deepening purple light Throws on the hills its pall;-- Lord, be our Light when suns decline, And in our souls unclouded shine.
Still is the eventide,-- Calm is the soft repose, When earthly toil is laid aside, And eyelids drooping, close; Lord, let Thy peace my soul possess, In everlasting restfulness.