Chapter_155

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Father of Lights, by whom each day

Is kindled out of night,

Who, when the heavens were made, didst lay

Their rudiments in light;

Thou, who didst bind and blend in one

The glistening morn and evening pale,

Hear Thou our plaint, when light is gone,

And lawlessness and strife prevail.

Hear, lest the whelming weight of crime

Wreck us with life in view;

Lest thoughts and schemes of sense and time

Earn us a sinner’s due.

So may we knock at Heaven’s door,

And strive the immortal prize to win,

Continually and evermore

Guarded without and pure within.

Grant this, O Father, Only Son,

And Spirit, God of grace,

To whom all worship shall be done

In every time and place.