Classic Poem

God heareth prayer—whether in secret place
Or in his sacred courts it matters not.
Where two or three are gathered in his name,
There will he deign to meet them and to bless.
God heareth prayer;—Oh! thou desponding one,
When dark temptation's cloud o'erspreads thy soul,
Turn from the busy and the giddy throng,
Haste thou to nature's solitude—commune
With thy own heart, and humbly bend thy knee,
For in that hour, thy God will hear thy prayer.
It was the close of summer, yet the breeze
Went idly by as if it feared to break
The stillness of a day so beautiful;
And in the blue expanse rich golden clouds
In graceful motion floated to and fro,
And seemed like purest spirits of the blest.
The reaper's work was done—o'er widespread plains
No longer waved the sheaves of ripened grain;
His hand a plenteous store had gathered in,
And now his grateful heart was turned to God.
Beyond the precincts of a growing town,
There was an ancient wood, whose giant oaks
The wintry storms of centuries had braved,
Their gnarled branches still extended far
Along the margin of a quiet stream.
For months no sound was heard save pleasant notes
Of singing birds, that from those lofty boughs
Warbled their vesper or their matin lay.
But now a spacious altar there was reared,
And tent on tent the sacred spot inclosed,
Where gathered thousands congregate to pray.
Their eyes are now directed to the place
Where the loved pastor stands—their ears intent
To catch the message from Jehovah's throne.
He was a man of three score years and ten,
His cheek was furrowed, and his hoary locks
White with the frost which age had sprinkled o'er;
His voice, though tremulous, to silence awed
The most unmindful in that numerous throng.
And now the holy book of God he oped
And read the solemn words, “Come unto me,
Ye heavy laden! I will give you rest;—
My yoke is easy, and my burden light!”
He knelt to pray, and in impassioned tones
Pleaded for mercy from the Omnipotent.
Stout hearts were melted, and convulsive sobs
Told that the Holy Ghost was there,
Exerting influence divine;—again,
The sermon closed, he knelt in prayer and said,
“Father, if thou hast here a work begun,
Oh! grant a glorious issue—like a God.
These humble penitents before thee bless—
These wandering sheep restore—these sinners save,
Glory to thee for what these ears have heard!
Glory to thee for what these eyes have seen!”
He paused, then hid his face and silent wept.
'Twas evening, and as one by one the stars
Lit up the cloudless firmament on high,
I seemed to see the star of Bethlehem
Refulgent there with his benignant rays.
I turned away reluctant from the scene,
And thought how soon that herald of the cross
Would sleep beneath the cold and silent tomb,
Yet felt assured that Paul-like he could say,
“For me to live is Christ—to die is gain!”