This text comes from A First Series of Hymns and Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
The evening is closing: the branches among
The little birds nestling, have finish'd their song;
The mother bird's wings o'er her young ones are spread,
And the stars, one by one, now peep out overhead.
Oh, the foxes have holes, and each bird has its nest,
But I know of One who found nowhere to rest;
A stranger he walk'd through the world he had made,
And found not a place where to pillow his head.
It was thou, who to set thy lost little ones free,
Endured'st, dear Lord, thy sad death on the tree.
Unnotic'd by thee not a sparrow may fall,
And thy Cross is the shadow encompassing all.
O Jesu, 'mid darkness I know thou art near,
Thine arm is around me, no evil I fear;
Thou, Lord, while I sleep keepest watch over me,
And when I wake up I am present with thee.
Thy mercies each morning and evening are new,
And so should my song of thanksgiving be too;
But oh, 'tis thy grace that alone can impart
A grateful, a loving, a sanctified heart.