II.
Reading edition
PRAYER AND ASPIRATION.
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WHAT IS PRAYER?
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed— The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burthen of a sigh, The falling of a tear— The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try— Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The majesty on high.
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways, While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, "Behold he prays!"
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath— The Christian's native air— His watchword at the gates of death— He enters heaven with prayer.
The saints in prayer appear as one In word, and deed, and mind, While with the Father and the Son Sweet fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made by man alone— The Holy Spirit pleads— And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For shiners intercedes.
O Thou by whom we come to God— The life, the truth, the way! The path of prayer Thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray!
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
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THE TIME FOR PRAYER.
When is the time for prayer? With the first beams that light the morning's sky, Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare, Lift up thy thoughts on high; Commend the loved ones to his watchful care: Morn is the time for prayer!
And in the noontide hour, If worn by toil, or by sad cares oppressed, Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour, And he will give thee rest:— Thy voice shall reach him through the fields of air: Noon is the time for prayer!
When the bright sun hath set,— Whilst yet eve's glowing colors deck the skies;— When the loved, at home, again thou 'st met, Then let the prayer arise For those who in thy joys and sorrow share: Eve is the time for prayer!
And when the stars come forth,— When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth To pure, bright dreams of heaven,— Kneel to thy God—ask strength, life's ills to bear: Night is the time for prayer!
When is the time for prayer? In every hour, while life is spared to thee— In crowds or solitudes—in joy or care— Thy thoughts should heavenward flee. At home—at morn and eve—with loved ones there, Bend thou the knee in prayer!
G. BENNETT.
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SEASONS OF PRAYER.
To prayer, to prayer;—for the morning breaks, And earth in her Maker's smile awakes. His light is on all below and above,— The light of gladness, and life, and love. Oh, then, on the breath of this early air Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.
To prayer;—for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on; Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where his children impose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.
To prayer;—for the day that God has blest Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest. It speaks of creation's early bloom; It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb. Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.
There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new-born infant beside her lies. Oh, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows With rapture a mother only knows. Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer; Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care.
There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand: What trying thoughts in her bosom swell, As the bride bids parents and home farewell! Kneel down by the side of the tearful pair, And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
Kneel down by the dying sinner's side, And pray for his soul through Him who died. Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow; Oh, what are earth and its pleasures now! And what shall assuage his dark despair, But the penitent cry of humble prayer?
Kneel down by the couch of departing faith, And hear the last words the believer saith. He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends; There is peace in his eye that upward bends; There is peace in his calm, confiding air; For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer.
The voice of prayer at the sable bier! A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. It commends the spirit to God who gave; It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave; It points to the glory where he shall reign, Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again."
The voice of prayer in the world of bliss! But gladder, purer, than rose from this. The ransomed shout to their glorious King, Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing; But a sinless and joyous song they raise, And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
Awake, awake! and gird up thy strength, To join that holy band at length! To Him who unceasing love displays, Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,— To Him thy heart and thy hours be given; For a life of prayer is the life of Heaven.
HENRY WARE, JR.
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EXHORTATION TO PRAYER.
Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed Compose thy weary limbs to rest; For they alone are blessed With balmy sleep Whom angels keep; Nor, though by care oppressed, Or anxious sorrow, Or thought in many a coil perplexed For coming morrow, Lay not thy head On prayerless bed.
For who can tell, when sleep thine eyes shall close, That earthly cares and woes To thee may e'er return? Arouse, my soul! Slumber control, And let thy lamp burn brightly; So shall thine eyes discern Things pure and sightly; Taught by the Spirit, learn Never on a prayerless bed To lay thine unblest head.
Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, That calls for holy prayer? Has thy day been so bright That in its flight There is no trace of sorrow? And thou art sure to-morrow Will be like this, and more Abundant? Dost thou yet lay up thy store And still make plans for more? Thou fool! this very night Thy soul may wing its flight.
Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, That ploughs the ocean deep, And when storms sweep The wintry, lowering sky, For whom thou wak'st and weepest? Oh, when thy pangs are deepest, Seek then the covenant ark of prayer; For He that slumbereth not is there— His ear is open to thy cry. Oh, then, on prayerless bed Lay not thy thoughtless head.
Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slumber, Till in communion blest With the elect ye rest— Those souls of countless numbers; And with them raise The note of praise, Reaching from earth to heaven— Chosen, redeemed, forgiven; So lay thy happy head, Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed.
MARGARET MERCER.
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