Evening prayer

Speak to me Lord, when the eventide

neareth,

And the brilliant red sunbeams are

strewn in the west;

Following on, as Thy sheep home Thou

leadest

Into the fold, where they find perfect

rest.

Speak to me often, for Lord when Thou

speakest,

The world with it’s snares and false

hopes fade away;

Succouring, lifting and giving me

comfort,

Changing the darkness to clear

lasting day.

Kathy Breakell