Gentry 1849

When the ruddy morn is breaking,

And the sweet-toned birds are waking

From dreams of night,

To hail the light

That smiles on Nature everywhere;

Lift up thy voice to God in prayer.

When the noon-day beam is glancing,

And the bright sun ray is dancing,

O’er babbling brook,

And flowery nook;

Forget awhile each earthly care,

And lift thy voice to God in prayer.

When the evening sun’s declining,

And the day with night’s entwining,

And shrouds of gold

The clouds enfold;

O, let the passing zephyr bear

On high to God thy humble prayer.

When the wearied earth is sleeping,

and the night her tears is weeping,

And moonbeams pale

Rest on the vale;

O then, unheard by mortal ear,

Pour out thy soul to God in prayer.

Thus, as down life’s stream we’re drifting,

Let our hearts be ever lifting

To Him above,

Who sheds his love

On every humble spirit here,

That seeks the great I AM in prayer.¹