My God! is any hour so sweet,
From blush of morn to evening-star,
As that which calls me to thy feet—
The hour of prayer?
Blest be that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave.
For then a day-spring shines on me,
Brighter than morn’s ethereal glow;
And richer dews descend from thee
Than earth can know.
Then is my strength by thee renewed;
Then are my sins by thee forgiven;
Then dost thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of heaven.
Words cannot tell what blest relief
Here for my every want I find;
What strength for warfare, balm for grief;
What peace of mind.
Hushed is each doubt—gone every fear,
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And e’en the penitential tear
Is wiped away.
Oh, till I reach yon peaceful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be,
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to thee!