162.  The Hour Of Prayer

1
Lord, no hour is half so sweet,
From bright morn to evening fair,
This which calls me to thy feet,
Is the blessed hour of prayer.

2
Blest that tranquil hour of morn,
Blest that solemn hour of eve,
When, on wings of prayer upborne,
Cumb’ring cares of earth I leave.

3
Then my strength by thee renewed,
And transgressions all forgiv’n;
Thou dost cheer my solitude
With the peace and joy of heav’n.

4
Words can’t tell what sweet relief
For my wants I here do find-
Strength for warfare, balm for grief,
Joy and hope and peace of mind.

5
Hushed is doubt, and ev’ry fear;
And I seem in heav’n to stay;
E’en the penitential tear
With soft touch is wiped away.

6
Till I reach that blissful shore,
This my privilege shall be,
Here my soul to thus outpour,
Simply, fervently to thee.