  In boyhood's sorrow-shadowed days, Which memory recalls to-day, In many moods and many ways, My yearning heart would pray. 'T was holy ground where'er I set My feet, God's shrine was everywhere; But this I scarcely knew as yet— Christ is His Father's Prayer. Appeals to them; and, rightly heard, The music of creation is The echo of His Word. But when the child has learnt his part, The echo is an answer strong; A prayer up-springing from the heart That blossoms in a song. Christ is the Living Word of God, His Poem and His Prophecy; The homeward way His Feet have trod Mankind must travel by. Is pledged to ministry divine, Who sees the Ruler of life's feast Turn water into wine; Who hears the Father's voice above, The Spirit's whispering within; Who knows the Messenger of love The Conqueror of sin. Responsive to God's call, our Prayer Art Thou, dear Lord, whene'er we pray; So always now, and everywhere, My heart keeps holiday. On the Danube: Feast of the Holy Name, 1883. |
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