90
PRAYER.
In his silent grave the father, Sleeps the sleep of dreamless rest,But her's the hand that drew him upward, From the rum-fiend's iron grasp.Hers the heart that true and faithful, Woke him to great Truth at last,Died he in a noble manhood, With his hand in hers locked fast.
Science with its legion doctrines, Atheists with their creeds of hell,Seek to break the old-time faith, That our stern forefathers held.
But that God who kept the Hebrew Children from the wrath of flame,That God who fed his faithful servant, Prophet great of ancient fame,By the ravens, He, who Daniel, Saved from the devowing jaws,Of the lion, lives as truly, Now to answer anguished prayer.
That Great Hand that sweetly folded, To His heart the little ones,He who to ransom sinners knew, The sepulchre's dismal gloom.He who pierced with many thorns, Bore the agonies of Death,Knoweth every heart's affliction, Answereth every prayer of faith.
