Classic Poem

Sweet is the morning hour for praise,
For trustful, earnest prayer,
When early birds their matins sing,
And flowers perfume the air;
With strength renewed we rise to share
The labors of the day,
While wisdom prompts us then to seek
A sweet, — still hour — to pray.

When noon unclouded clothes the earth
With emblematic light,
How oft the saint in faith beholds
The land where all is bright!
And as his eye of faith shall see
The glory yet to come,
Oh, may he not a — still hour — seek
To muse on that bright home!

When twilight stillness round his path
Proclaims the peace of God,
So sweetly shared by all who tread
The path by Jesus trod, —
A thorny, yet an upward way,
Where strength for toil is given, —
How sweet to claim that holy time,
A lone, still hour for heaven!

And when the night with starry quiet,
Or moonlit peace, shall come,
How welcome then a lone, — still hour, —
For thoughts of that glad home
Towards which we trust our steps may tend,
Though we in weakness tread
The rough, the labyrinthine path
In which we oft are led!

O God! who in the hour of prayer
Thy children here doth meet,
And lift the humble, contrite soul
Which boweth at thy feet,
Give me to bend in reverent trust,
And in thy love to share,
Whene'er, by day or night, I find
The sweet, — still hour — of prayer!