Prayer an Echo
‘From the earliest dawn of Nature’s birth,
Since sorrow and sin first darkened the earth;
From sun to sun, from pole to pole,
Where’er the waves of Humanity roll,
The breezy robe this planet wears
Has quivered and echoed with countless prayers.
Each hour a million knees are bent,
A million prayers to heaven are sent;
There’s not a summer beam but sees
Some humble suppliant on his knees;
There’s not a breeze that murmurs by
But wafts some faithful prayer on high;
There’s not a woe afflicts our race
But someone bears to the Throne of Grace;
And for every temptation our souls may meet
We ask for grace at the Mercy Seat.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The beams smile on, and heaven serene
Still bends, as though no prayers had been;
And the breezes moan, as still they wave,
When man is powerless, heaven cannot save.”
—Charles Stevenson.