When on the sun's broad splendors <br />The gates of evening close, <br />And darkling earth surrenders <br />Her children to repose, <br />The azure paths above us <br />By sons of light are trod, <br />Who watch, as those who love us, <br />And tell us of our God. <br /> <br /> <br />So, Father, since the portals, <br />Round which thine angels press, <br />Shut from the eyes of mortals <br />The Sun of Righteousness, <br />The world he blessed hath never <br />Of light been all bereft; <br />The heralds of thy favor, <br />Thy watchmen, still are left. <br /> <br /> <br />They come, when we are weeping, <br />To wipe our tears away; <br />They wake, while we are sleeping, <br />And for our peace they pray; <br />Or, in the congregation, <br />To plead thy cause they stand;- <br />O God of our salvation, <br />Uphold them with thy hand. <br /> <br /> <br />And let that spirit fervent, <br />Which loves to labor thus, <br />Abide upon thy servant, <br />Who comes, this day, to us; <br />That, when his strength is failing, <br />Those he hath led may say, <br />'Our star is only paling <br />In heaven's advancing day.'<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-for-ordination-and-installation-viii/
