Make my mortal dreams come true With the work I fain would do: Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant. --John Greenleaf Whittier. This be my prayer, from dawn to eve, Working between the suns; Lord, make my arm as firm as a knight's My soul as white as a nun's. Every hour that fleets so slowly has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown and holy, if we set each gem with care. O for a man to rise in me, That the man that I am May cease to be. --Alfred Tennyson. PRAYER WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER Father of all! in every age, In ev'ry clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind: Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will. What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heaven pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives-- T' enjoy is to obey. Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man When thousand worlds are round; Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe. If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way. Save me alike from foolish pride Or impious discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied Or aught thy wisdom lent. Teach me to feel another's woe; To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, not wholly so Since quicken'd by thy breath; O lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death. This day be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun Thou know'st if best bestowed or not; And let thy will be done. To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all Being raise, All Nature's incense rise! --Alexander Pope. THE HOUR OF PRAYER My God, is any hour so sweet, From blush of morn to evening star, As that which calls me to thy feet: The hour of prayer? Blest is that tranquil hour of morn, And blest that solemn hour of eve, When, on the wings of prayer upborne, The world I leave. Then is my strength by thee renewed; Then are my sins by thee forgiven; Then dost thou cheer my solitude With hopes of heaven.