The Hour Of Prayer

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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