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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 the tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn 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.
No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find;
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.
Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And e’en the penitential tear
Is wiped away.
Lord! till I reach that blissful shore
No privilege so dear shall be,
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to Thee.

Charlotte Elliott.