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Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
that, drawn from this one hour of rest,
are with a ready heart bestowed
upon the service of our God!
Each field is then a hallowed spot,
an altar in each man's cot,
a church in every grove that spreads
its living roof above our heads.
Look up to heaven! the industrious sun
already half his race hath run;
he cannot halt or go astray,
but our immortal spirits may.
Lord, since his rising in the east,
if we have faltered or transgressed,
guide, from thy love's abundant source,
what yet remains of this day's course;
help with thy grace, through life's short day,
our upward and our downward way;
and glorify for us the west,
when we shall sink to final rest.