by Jerry Senn
In the hush of early morning, When the breeze is whispering low,
There’s a voice that gently calls me, And the its accents well I know;
Here I am, O Savior, waiting, For Thy will alone is mine;
This is all my crown and glory, I am Thine, and only Thine.
When the noontide falls upon me, With its fervid lightening ray,
There’s a voice divinely earnest, Bids me work while it is day;
Open, Savior, now before me All Thy will for me to do;
Only help me, watching, working, Still to keep my Lord in view.
As the dewy shades steal down-ward O’er the earth at evening mild,
There’s a voice I love that whispers, “After labor, rest my child;”
O my Savior, loving, tender, Help me to account it blest
Thus to work within Thy vineyard, Till Thou callest me to rest.
(Mrs R N Turner (w 1890)
# 834