[Music:
WORDS BY J. ROBY. AIR FROM A MODERN CONCERTO.
Slow.
Father, hear a suppliant's cry;
Hear, oh hear, for Thou art nigh.
Though the clouds of sorrow rise
Darkly o'er these troubled skies;
Speak the word, "Let there be light!"
Bid the morning chase the night.
Father, hear a suppliant's prayer;
Darkness flies when Thou art there!]