A Sunday Song

A hush is in the shining sky,
A hush is on the golden lands.
O God on high,
Fair Nature folds her hands.
A hymn is in the heart of man,
High praises jubilant and free.
Great Artisan,
Thy creatures worship Thee.
From quiet fanes where men have trod
Through centuries of holy ways.
Our Father’s God,
Their children sing Thy praise.
And here in my poor life, above
The dally turmoil harsh and grim,
O God of love.
Hear Thou my Sunday hymn.