 | The forest minstrel |  |
163
THE HOUR OF PRAYER.
'Tis now the hour of prayer,—
The world is still and calm,
And all the trembling air
Is like a cloud of balm;
From valley, plain, and hill,
No busy voices come;
The flocks and herds are still,
The labourer is at home.
The world is still and calm,
And all the trembling air
Is like a cloud of balm;
From valley, plain, and hill,
No busy voices come;
The flocks and herds are still,
The labourer is at home.
The moon in holy light
Walks down the spangled sky,
The dewy leaves are bright
Beneath her radiant eye;
The birds, that all the day
Made field and forest ring,
Sleep each upon his spray,
With head beneath the wing.
Walks down the spangled sky,
The dewy leaves are bright
Beneath her radiant eye;
The birds, that all the day
Made field and forest ring,
Sleep each upon his spray,
With head beneath the wing.
Even childhood's voice of joy
Is bound in sweet control,
And dreams of bliss employ
The young and harmless soul.
No sound is on the air,
To tempt the mind astray;—
In such an hour of prayer
How sweet it is to pray!
Is bound in sweet control,
And dreams of bliss employ
The young and harmless soul.
No sound is on the air,
To tempt the mind astray;—
In such an hour of prayer
How sweet it is to pray!
164
No thoughts of sorrow now
Exert their dark control;
The moon shines on the brow,
And peace is in the soul;
No weight is on the mind,
In this sweet hour of prayer;
The world is left behind,
With all its chains of care.
Exert their dark control;
The moon shines on the brow,
And peace is in the soul;
No weight is on the mind,
In this sweet hour of prayer;
The world is left behind,
With all its chains of care.
How blessed now to kneel
All humbly on the sod;
To look to heaven and feel
The presence of our God;
To feel the spirit melt
With love's redeeming ray,
From Him who often knelt
In night's calm hour to pray;—
All humbly on the sod;
To look to heaven and feel
The presence of our God;
To feel the spirit melt
With love's redeeming ray,
From Him who often knelt
In night's calm hour to pray;—
To feel the Spirit of grace,
With soft mysterious sway,
Shed o'er the soul that peace,
Which nought can take away.
Oh! sweet indeed it were,
With such communion blest,
At this calm hour of prayer
To pass to endless rest.
With soft mysterious sway,
Shed o'er the soul that peace,
Which nought can take away.
Oh! sweet indeed it were,
With such communion blest,
At this calm hour of prayer
To pass to endless rest.
| The forest minstrel | |