Poems (Sherwin)/The hour of prayer
THE HOUR OF PRAYER.
Oh, sweet to me the blush of morn, And sweet the richly perfumed air; Sweet is the lovely blossomed thorn, But sweeter still the hour of prayer.
It lifts my thoughts from man to God; It brings remembrance back of those Who sleep beneath the mould'ring sod, Released from care in soft repose.
And when I breathe the fervent prayer, From earth my spirit seems to sped; And, freed from worldly thought and care, Holds commune with the happy dead.
Oh, dear to me the solemn sound Of closing evening's vesper bell; It fills the mind with thoughts profound, Spreads round the heart a holy spell.
Oh, sweet to me the blush of morn, And sweet the richly perfumed air, Sweet is the lovely blossomed thorn, But sweeter still the hour of prayer.