IN CHURCH.
I never feel so near to God and heaven
As when I kneel in worship at thy side,
And hear thy humble prayer to be forgiven
For sake of Him who for our saving died.
And though I do not mingle with thy prayer
Plea of my own, but, silent, bow my head,
So close our souls are knit, I seem to share
The bounteous blessings God on thee doth shed.
I hear the choir their joyous praises singing,
But not their voices soften my flint heart;
Thine only in my inmost soul is ringing,
Bidding peace enter, grief and sin depart.
And as the music through my pulse is stealing,
The rampart of my pride a ruin falls,
Even as of old the Jewish trumpets’ pealing
Shook down of haughty Jericho the walls.
SUCCOR THE CHILDREN.
Wan hands that never grasped a flower,
Ears stranger to the wild bird’s song,
To rule, where shall they find the power?
How wage life’s battle, right the wrong?
When the great hour of duty comes,
How shall they meet the mighty toil,
Whose blood is tainted by the slums,
Whose ears know but the street’s turmoil?
Succor the children of the street,
And teach them in the fields to play,
Nor let them in the stifling heat
Of crowded cities fade away;