Grant to Thy children Thy sustaining grace,
When low at length have run the daylight sands,—
When, though their day was set to Thy commands,
They bow contritely in prayer's holy place,
Because through strivings beauty-wards they trace
The sad misshapings of their earthly hands:
Grant them at eve a soul devoutly still,
Grant them in dreams a vision of Thy light,
Grant them at morn a sorrow purged away
Into the peace of all-absolving night,