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CHILD'S BOOK OF RELIGION.
CALLS TO PRAYER
1. THE CHILD'S PRAYER.
Y Alpine lake, 'neath shady rock,
The herdboy knelt beside his flock, . And softly told, with pious air, His alphabet as evening prayer.
Unseen, his pastor lingered near.
“Where'er the hills and valleys blend, The sounds of prayer and praise ascend. My child, a prayer yours cannot be: You've only said your A B C.”
“I have no better way to pray:
Miss Lander (from the German).
2. THE BEAUTY OF PRAYER.
T is good to pray unto God: for his sorrowing
children Turns he ne'er from the door; but he heals and
helps and consoles them. It is good to pray when all things are prospering
Pray in fortunate days; for Life's most beautiful
Fortune Kneels down before the Eternal's throne, and,
with hands interfolded, Praises, thankful and moved, the only Giver of
blessings. For do ye know, ye children, one blessing that
comes not from heaven? What has mankind forsooth, the poor, that it has
not received ? Therefore fall on thy knee, and pray.
The seraphs, adoring, Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of
Him who Hung his masonry pendent on nought when the
world he created.
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament
speaketh his glory. Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward
from heaven, Downward like withered leaves. At the last
stroke of midnight, millenniums Lay themselves down at his feet; and he sees
them, and counts them as nothing.
heard in the earthquake,
Worlds without number
for this purpose only, -
forth his Spirit Into the slumbering dust; and, upright standing,
it placed Its hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with
a flame out of heaven. Quench, oh, quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being !
From the Swedish of Tegnér,
Translated by Longfellow,
3. PRAYER IS OF NO PLACE.
Of humanity clothed in the brightness of
God? Were our spirits but turned from the outward
and dim, They could gaze even now on the presence of
Him: Not in clouds, nor in terrors, but gentle as when In love and in meekness he moved among men; And the voice which breathed peace to the
waves of the sea In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me. Then what if our feet may not tread where he
stood, Nor our ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, Nor our eyes see the cross which he bowed him
to bear, Nor our knees press Gethsemane's garden of
prayer? Yet, loved of the Father, thy spirit is near To the meek and the lowly and penitent here; And the voice of thy love is the same, even now, As at Bethlehem's tomb or on Olivet's brow.
J. G. Whittier.