A PRAYER
(And golden vials full of odors which were the
prayers of saints.—Rev. 5:8.)
prayers of saints.—Rev. 5:8.)
Breathed in the soul's deep chamber
When none but God, were near;
Wrung from a weight of anguish
Or a burden of mute despair;
But gathered up, by viewless hands,
And wafted upward on pinions fleet,
Welcomed by joyous angel bands,
A golden vial of odors, sweet.
When none but God, were near;
Wrung from a weight of anguish
Or a burden of mute despair;
But gathered up, by viewless hands,
And wafted upward on pinions fleet,
Welcomed by joyous angel bands,
A golden vial of odors, sweet.
Sung in the house of worship
By a spirit, tuned to praise,
Forgotten amid the tumult
And bustle of later days;
But guarded through Time's dissolving flight
By faithful watchers, who never sleep,
Unsullied by earthly rust or blight,
A golden vial of odors, sweet.
By a spirit, tuned to praise,
Forgotten amid the tumult
And bustle of later days;
But guarded through Time's dissolving flight
By faithful watchers, who never sleep,
Unsullied by earthly rust or blight,
A golden vial of odors, sweet.
Lisped by infant voices
In the hush of the evening hour,
Lost on the balmy breezes
Like the scent of a fragile flower;
But evermore shall the angels
Their scattered perfume reap,
For even a child's petition
Is a vial of incense, sweet.
In the hush of the evening hour,
Lost on the balmy breezes
Like the scent of a fragile flower;
But evermore shall the angels
Their scattered perfume reap,
For even a child's petition
Is a vial of incense, sweet.
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