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OR,

THE MORNING DRAWETH NIGH.

BY
ANNIE MARIA MINSTER.

Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark

I would question thee,
Alone in the shadow drear and stark

With God and mel
What, my soul, was thy errand here ?

Was it mirth or ease,
Or heaping up dust from year to year !

** Nay, none of these !"
Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight

Whose eye looks still
And steadily on thee through the night:

"To do His will ?

N e w - York:
A. B. BURDICK, PUBLISHER,

No. 145 NASSAU STREET.

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