I love to steal awhile away
From every cumbering care,
And spend the hours of closing day
In humble, grateful, prayer.
I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore,
And all my cares and sorrows cast
On God, Whom I adore.
I love by faith to take a view
Of brighter scenes in heaven;
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.
Thus, when life’s toilsome day is o’er,
May its departing ray,
Be calm at this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.
About the writer: Phoebe Hinsdale Brown was born in 1783 in Canaan, New York. Being left an orphan when only two years of age, her early life was one of want, hardship, and drudgery. At the age of nine she went to live with a relative who kept a county jail. “These were years of intense and cruel suffering,” wrote her son. “The tale of her early life is a narrative of such deprivations, toil, and cruel treatment as it breaks my heart to read.” Not until she was eighteen years of age did she escape from this bondage and find a home among kind and sympathetic people. Her education was limited to three months in the public school where she learned to write. She made at this time a profession of faith in Christ and joined the Congregational Church. She died in 1861. “Despite all her disadvantages,” wrote her biographer, “Mrs. Brown’s talents and work are superior to those of any other early female hymnist of America.”
Key Verse: Afterward he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone. –Matthew 14:23