The Place of Prayer

O thou to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung, Whom kings adored in song sublime, And prophets praised with glowing tongue.

Not now on Zion' s height alone, The favored worshiper may dwell, Nor where at sultry noon, thy Son Sat weary by the patriarch' s well.

From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer, The incense of the heart, may rise To heav' n and find acceptance there.

O thou to whom, in ancient time, The holy prophet' s harp was strung, To thee, at last, in ev' ry clime, Shall praise arise and songs be sung.