The book of sacred song . re desire, Utterd 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. modern: deceased writers. 203 Prayer is the contrite sinners voice, Returning from his ways ;While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, Behold he prays ! Prayer is the Christians vital breath, The Christians native air;His watch-word at the gat
The book of sacred song . re desire, Utterd 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. modern: deceased writers. 203 Prayer is the contrite sinners voice, Returning from his ways ;While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, Behold he prays ! Prayer is the Christians vital breath, The Christians native air;His watch-word at the gates of death; He enters heaven with prayer. The saints in prayer appear as one, In word, in deed, and mind,While with the Father and the Son Sweet fellowship they find. Nor prayer is made on earth alone; The Holy Spirit pleads,And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For sinners 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 ! 204 THE BOOK OF SACRED SONG. THOU COMPASSEST ME ON EVERY SIDE/J GOD unseen, but not unknown,Thine eye is ever fiVd on me;I dwell beneath Thy secret throne,Encompassed by Thy Deity. Throughout this universe of space To nothing am I long allied;For flight of time, and change of place, My strongest, dearest bonds divide. Parents I had, but where are they ? Friends whom I knew, I know no more;Companions once that cheerM my way Have dropt behind or gone before. Now I am one amidst the crowdOf life and action hurrying round ; Now left alone,—for, like a cloud They came, they went, and are not found. Even from myself sometimes I part:Unconscious sleep is nightly death; Yet surely by my couch Thou art, To prompt my pulse, inspire my breath. MODERN DECEASED WRITERS. 20 Of all that I have done or said, How little can I now recall!Forgotten things to me are dead ; With Thee they live, Thou know^st them all. Thou hast been with me from the womb, Witness to ev*ry confli
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