Down through the dark, my God, Reach me Thy hand; Guide me along the road I fail to understand. Blindly I grope my way, In doubt and fear, Uncertain when I pray If Thou art near. O, God, renew my trust, Hear when I cry; Out of the cloud and dust Lift me to thee on high. The crooked paths make plain, The burden light; Touch me and heal my pain, And clear my sight. O, take my hand in Thine, And lead me so That all my steps incline In Thy right way to go. Out of this awful night Some whisper send, That I may feel my God, My loving friend. O, let me feel and see Thy hand and face; And let me learn of Thee My true right place. For I am Thine, and Thou Art also mine. Unto Thy will I bow, Helper divine! DO YOU HEAR THE WOMEN PRAYING? [Read before the Women's Prayer League of Portland, Oregon, May 27, 1874.] Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Do you hear what words they say? These, this free-born nation's wives and mothers, Bowing, where you proudly stand, to pray! Can you coldly look upon their faces, Pale, sad faces, seamed with frequent tears; See their hands uplifted in their places-- Hands that toiled for all your boyhood's years? Can you see your wives and daughters pleading In the dust you spurn beneath your feet, Baring hearts for years in secret bleeding, To the scoffs and jestings of the street? Can you hear, and yet not heed the crying Of the children perishing for bread? Born in fear, not love, and daily dying, Cursed of God, they think, but cursed of _you_ instead? Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Hear the oft-repeated burden of their prayer-- Hear them asking for one boon above all others-- _Not_ for vengeance on the wrongs they have to bear; But imploring, as their Lord did, "God forgive them, For they know not what they do; Strike the sin, but spare the sinners--save them"-- Meaning, oh ye men and brothers, _you_! For your heels have ground the women's faces; You have coined their blood and tears for gold; Have betrayed their kisses and embraces-- Returned their love with curses twentyfold; Made the wife's crown one of thorns and not of honor, Made her motherhood a pain and dread; Heaped life's toil unrecompensed upon her; Laid her sons upon her bosom, dead! Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Have you not one word to say? Will a _just_ God be as gentle as these mothers, If you dare to say them nay? Oh, ye men, God waits for _you_ to answer The prayers that to him rise, He waits to know if _you_ are just ere _He_ is-- There your deliverance lies!