PRAY FOR ME by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL

WHEN the early morn awaketh,
Veiled in mist, or robed in fire;
When the evening ray forsaketh
Golden cloud and gleaming spire,—
Thy request shall sacred be
In the shrine of memory,
And for thee my prayer shall rise
Far beyond the silent skies.

When the Sabbath calm is sleeping
Like a moonbeam everywhere;
When the solemn feast-day keeping,
Upward float our praise and prayer;
When in holy love and fear
To our Father we draw near,
Many a wingèd hope for thee
To His ear shall wafted be.

When we hear the loud thought-chorus,
While the Old Year's knell is tolled;
When the Future looms before us,
And the Past seems all unrolled;
When each moment fleeteth by,
Like a deep mysterious sigh,—
Then, oh then, my heart shall be
Lifted earnestly for thee:

Lifted—that our God may lead thee
All the way that thou shouldst go,
With His daily manna feed thee,
Every needful good bestow;
That the dearest ones to thee
Near and dear to Him may be;
That His smile on thee may rest,
In His presence calmly blest:

Lifted—that our holy Saviour
More and more to thee may show
All the wondrous grace and favor
He hath suffered to bestow;
That His love may be thy shield
In Temptation's battle-field;
And His sympathy thy light
In Affliction's darkest night:

That the Comforter, descending
In His sanctifying power,
Peace and hope and gladness blending,
On thy waiting soul may shower;
That our Triune God may shed
Every blessing on thy head,
Till thou enter in and see
All He hath prepared for thee.

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