Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o’ershading,
But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,
When the soul waketh, and life’s shadows flee;
O for that hour when fairer than the dawning
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!