In boyhood's sorrow-shadowed days,
Which memory recalls to-day,
In many moods and many ways,
My yearning heart would pray.
‘ T was holy ground where'er I set
My feet, God's shrine was everywhere;
But this I scarcely knew as yet —
Christ is His Father's Prayer.
God ever seeks His children's bliss,
Appeals to them; and, rightly heard,
The music of creation is
The echo of His Word.
But when the child has learnt his part,
The echo is an answer strong;
A prayer up-springing from the heart
That blossoms in a song.
Christ is the Living Word of God,
His Poem and His Prophecy;
The homeward way His Feet have trod
Mankind must travel by.
And every man, God's child and priest,
Is pledged to ministry divine,
Who sees the Ruler of life's feast
Turn water into wine;
Who hears the Father's voice above,
The Spirit's whispering within;
Who knows the Messenger of love
The Conqueror of sin.
Responsive to God's call, our Prayer
Art Thou, dear Lord, whene'er we pray;
So always now, and everywhere,
My heart keeps holiday.