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S. M.


The Hour of Prayer.

It is the hour of prayer:

Draw near and bend the knee,

And fill the calm and holy air

With voice of melody!

O’erwearied with the heat

And burden of the day,

Now let us rest our wandering feet,

And gather here to pray.

The dark and deadly blight

That walks at noontide hour,

The midnight arrow’s secret flight,

O’er us have had no power:

But smiles from loving eyes

Have been around our way,

And lips on which a blessing lies

Have bidden us to pray.

O, blessed is the hour

That lifts our hearts on high!

Like sunlight when the tempests lower,

Prayer to the soul is nigh;

Though dark may be our lot,

Our eyes be dim with care,

These saddening thoughts shall trouble not

This holy hour of prayer.

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