And Help Us, This And Every Day,

Sun Of My Soul! Thou Saviour Dear, It Is Not Night If Thou Be Near.

Soft As Memnon's Harp At Morning, To The Inward Ear Devout, Touched By Light, With Heavenly Warning Your Transporting Chords Ring Out. Every Leaf In Every Nook, Every Wave In Every Brook, Chanting With A Solemn Voice Minds Us Of Our Better Choice.

The Watchful Mother Tarries Nigh Though Sleep Have Closed Her Infant's Eye, For Should He Wake, And Find Her Gone.

Pride Of The Dewy Morning, The Swain's Experienced Eye From Thee Takes Timely Warning. Nor Trusts The Gorgeous Sky.

Thou Art The Sun Of Other Days. They Shine By Giving Back The Rays.