Private Devotion Poem by John Bowring

There are no hours so sweet as those
When the tired spirit finds repose
In the calm peace of virtuous thought,
And makes the heart a throne, where God
And goodness make their blest abode;
While sin and folly are forgot.


O only then, if ever, then
Doth God delight to dwell with men,
And men become almost divine;
When heaven's own purity can chase
Defilement from its dwelling-place,
And consecrates man's bosom-shrine.


O teach and train my spirit, Lord!
With Thy own wisdom and Thy word,
To welcome and to watch for Thee;
And in its hour of virtue come
And make my heart a heaven, a home
For Thy own peace and purity.