O'er Kedron's stream, and Salem's height,
And Olivet's brown steep,
Rolls the majestic queen of night,
And showers from heaven her silver light,
And sees the world asleep.


All but the children of distress,
Of sorrow, grief, and care;
Whom sleep, though prayed for, will not bless;
These leave the couch of restlessness,
To breathe the cool, calm air.


For those who shun the glare of day,
There 's a composing power,
That meets them on their lonely way,
In the still air,-the sober ray
Of this religious hour.


'T is a religious hour; for he,
Who many a grief shall bear,
In his own body on the tree,
Is kneeling in Gethsemanè,
In agony and prayer.


O, holy Father! when the light
Of earthly joy grows dim,
May hope in Christ grow strong and bright,
In all who celebrate this rite
In memory of him.

John Pierpont

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-for-communion-iv/