William Wordsworth, 1834
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!
2. Each field is then a hallowed spot,
3. Look up to heaven, the industrious sun|
Already half his race hath run:
He cannot halt or go astray,
But our immortal spirits may.
4. Lord, since his rising in the east,
5. 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.
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