PRAYER
WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER
Father of all! in every age,
In ev'ry clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind:
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives—
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound;
Or think thee Lord alone of man
When thousand worlds are round;
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied
Or aught thy wisdom lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not;
And let thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all Being raise,
All Nature's incense rise!
—Alexander Pope.
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THE HOUR OF PRAYER
My God, is any hour so sweet,
From blush of morn to evening star,
As that which calls me to thy feet:
The hour of prayer?
Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that solemn hour of eve,
When, on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave.
Then is my strength by thee renewed;
Then are my sins by thee forgiven;
Then dost thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of heaven.
No words can tell what sweet relief
Here for my every want I find;
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.
Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And e'en the penitential tear
Lord, till I reach that blissful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to thee.
—Charlotte Elliott.
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PETITION
Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right.
Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray,
Though hope be weak or sick with long delay;
Pray in the darkness if there be no light.
Far is the time, remote from human sight,
When war and discord on the earth shall cease;
Yet every prayer for universal peace
Avails the blessed time to expedite.
Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of heaven,
Though it be what thou canst not hope to see.
Pray to be perfect, though material leaven
Forbid the spirit so on earth to be;
But if for any wish thou darest not pray,
Then pray to God to cast that wish away.
—Hartley Coleridge.
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SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE
Unanswered yet the prayer your lips have pleaded
In agony of heart these many years?
Does faith begin to fail? Is hope departing?
And think you all in vain those falling tears?
Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer;
You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere.
Unanswered yet?—though when you first presented
This one petition at the Father's throne
It seemed you could not wait the time of asking,
So urgent was your heart to make it known!
Though years have passed since then, do not despair;
The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere.
Unanswered yet? Nay, do not say ungranted;
Perhaps your work is not yet wholly done.
The work began when first your prayer was uttered,
And God will finish what he has begun.
If you will keep the incense burning there
His glory you shall see sometime, somewhere.
Unanswered yet? Faith cannot be unanswered,
Her feet were firmly planted on the Rock;
Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted,
Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock.
She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer,
And cries, "It shall be done"—sometime, somewhere.
—Miss Ophelia G. Browning.
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SECRET PRAYER
Lord, I have shut my door—
Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise,
Here in this silence they intrude no more.
Speak thou, and heavenly joys
Shall fill my heart with music sweet and calm—
A holy psalm.
Yes, I have shut my door,
Even on all the beauty of thine earth—
To its blue ceiling, from its emerald floor,
Filled with spring's bloom and mirth;
From these, thy works, I turn; thyself I seek;
To thee I speak.
And I have shut my door
On earthly passion—all its yearning love,
Its tender friendships, all the priceless store
Of human ties. Above
All these my heart aspires, O Heart divine!
Lord, I have shut my door!
Come thou and visit me: I am alone!
Come as when doors were shut thou cam'st of yore
And visited thine own.
My Lord, I kneel with reverence, love, and fear,
For thou art here.
—Mary Ellen Atkinson.
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WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?
The homely words—how often read!
How seldom fully known:
"Which father of you, asked for bread,
Would give his son a stone?"
How oft has bitter tear been shed,
And heaved how many a groan,
Because thou wouldst not give for bread
The thing that was a stone!
How oft the child thou wouldst have fed
Thy gift away has thrown;
He prayed, thou heardst, and gavest bread—
He cried, "It is a stone!"
Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread,
Lest I be left to moan,
Am I not he, who, asked for bread,
Would give his son a stone?
—George Macdonald.
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DENIAL
I want so many, many things,
My wishes on my prayers take wings,
And heavenward fly to sue for grace
Before the loving Father's face.
But He, well knowing all my need,
Kindly rebukes my foolish greed,
And, granting not the gift I ask,
Sets me instead to do some task—
Some lowly task—for love of him,
So lowly, and in light so dim,
My sorrowing soul must cease to sing,
And only sigh, "'Tis for the King."
And scarcely can my faith repeat
Her sad petition at his feet:
"These daily tasks Thou giv'st to me,
Help, Lord, to do as unto thee!"
Yet while his bidding thus I do—
I know not how, or why, 'tis true—
My thoughts to sweet contentment glide,
And I forget the wish denied.
And so my prayers he hears and heeds,
Mindful of all my daily needs;
Gracious, most gracious, too, in this—
Denying, when I ask amiss.
—Luella Clark.
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A BLESSING IN PRAYER
If when I kneel to pray,
With eager lips I say:
"Lord, give me all the things that I desire—
Health, wealth, fame, friends, brave heart, religious fire,
The power to sway my fellow men at will,
And strength for mighty works to banish ill"—
In such a prayer as this
The blessing I must miss.
Or if I only dare
To raise this fainting prayer:
"Thou seest, Lord, that I am poor and weak,
And cannot tell what things I ought to seek;
I therefore do not ask at all, but still
I trust thy bounty all my wants to fill"—
My lips shall thus grow dumb,
The blessing shall not come.
But if I lowly fall,
And thus in faith I call:
"Through Christ, O Lord, I pray thee give to me
Not what I would, but what seems best to thee
Of life, of health, of service, and of strength,
Until to thy full joy I come at length"—
My prayer shall then avail;
The blessing shall not fail.
—Charles F. Richardson.
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Teach me, dear Lord, what thou wouldst have me know;
Guide me, dear Lord, where thou wouldst have me go;
Help me, dear Lord, the precious seed to sow;
Bless thou the seed that it may surely grow.
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THE TIME FOR PRAYER
When is the time for prayer?
With the first beams that light the morning sky,
Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare,
Lift up thy thoughts on high;
Commend thy loved ones to his watchful care:
Morn is the time for prayer!
And in the noontide hour,
If worn by toil or by sad care oppressed,
Then unto God thy spirit's sorrows 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 with the loved, at home, again thou'st met,
Then let thy prayers arise
For those who in thy joys and sorrows 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 solitude—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!
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NOT A SOUND INVADES THE STILLNESS
Not a sound invades the stillness,
Not a form invades the scene,
Save the voice of my Belovèd,
And the person of my King.
And within those heavenly places,
Calmly hushed in sweet repose,
There I drink, with joy absorbing,
All the love thou wouldst disclose.
Wrapt in deep adoring silence,
Jesus, Lord, I dare not move,
Lest I lose the smallest saying
Meant to catch the ear of love.
Rest, then, O my soul, contented:
Thou hast reached thy happy place
In the bosom of thy Saviour,
Gazing up in his dear face.
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FORMAL PRAYER
I often say my prayers,
But do I ever pray;
And do the wishes of my heart
Go with the words I say?
I may as well kneel down
And worship gods of stone,
As offer to the living God
A prayer of words alone.
For words without the heart
The Lord will never hear:
Nor will he to those lips attend
Whose prayers are not sincere.
—John Burton.
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BLESSINGS OF PRAYER
What various hindrances we meet
In coming to a mercy-seat!
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer
But wishes to be often there!
Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw;
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw;
Gives exercise to faith and love;
Brings every blessing from above.
Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;
Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright;
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.
Were half the breath that's vainly spent
To heaven in supplication sent,
Our cheerful song would oftener be
"Hear what the Lord has done for me."
—William Cowper.
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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 burden 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.
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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SPIRITUAL DEVOTION
The woman singeth at her spinning wheel
A pleasant chant, ballad, or baracolle;
She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,
Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel
Is full, and artfully her fingers feel,
With quick adjustment, provident control,
The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll,
Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal
To the dear Christian Church, that we may do
Our Father's business in these temples mirk
Thus, swift and steadfast; thus, intent and strong;
While, thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue
Some high, calm, spheric tune and prove our work
The better for the sweetness of our song.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
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PRAYER OF DEEDS
The deed ye do is the prayer ye pray;
"Lead us into temptation, Lord;
Withhold the bread from our babes this day;
To evil we turn us, give evil's reward!"
Over to-day the to-morrow bends
With an answer for each acted prayer;
And woe to him who makes not friends
With the pale hereafter hovering there.
—George S. Burleigh.
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SUNDAY
Not a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould,
Where I must creep and in the dark and cold
Offer some awful incense at a shrine
That hath no more divine
Than that 'tis far from life, and stern, and old;
But a bright hilltop, in the breezy air
Full of the morning freshness, high and clear,
Where I may climb and drink the pure new day
And see where winds away
The path that God would send me, shining fair.
—Edward Rowland Sill.
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