The Laborer’s Noon-Day Hymn

Up to the throne of God is borne

The voice of praise at ear­ly morn

And He ac­cepts the punc­tu­al hymn

Sung as the light of day grows dim:

Nor will He turn His ear aside

From ho­ly of­fer­ings at noon­tide:

Then here re­pos­ing let us raise

A song of gra­ti­tude and praise.

What though our bur­den be not light

We need not toil from morn to night;

The res­pite of the mid-day hour

Is in the thank­ful crea­ture’s pow­er.

Blest are the mo­ments

doub­ly blest

That

drawn from this one hour of rest

Are with a rea­dy heart be­stowed

Upon the serv­ice of our God!

Each field is then a hal­lowed spot

An al­tar is in each man’s cot

A church in ev­ery grove that spreads

Its liv­ing roof above our heads.

Look up to Heav­en! the in­dus­tri­ous sun

Already half his race hath run;

He can­not halt nor go as­tray

But our im­mor­tal spir­its may.

Lord! since his ris­ing in the East

If we have fal­tered or trans­gressed

Guide

from Thy love’s abun­dant source

What yet re­mains of this day’s course:

Help with Thy grace

through life’s short day

Our up­ward and our down­ward way;

And glo­ri­fy for us the west

When we shall sink to fi­nal rest.