So in this stillness thou beholdest only
Thine image in the waters of my breast.
Still, still with thee! as to each new born morning
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
So does this blessèd consciousness awaking
Breathe each day nearness unto thee and heaven.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eyes look up to thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,
But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.