Late Afternoon

Oft I withdraw from wearied lands

                And toiled hands to Thee,

And find Thee here, the stunning Son

                As a reward to me.

Mine eyes did make a paltry game

                Of finding fame and pride,

But now repose before a fire

                And thus retire inside.

And as the daylight disappears

                I find me near to Thee,

For I am his who, beckoning,

                Is reconciling me.