Faint falls the gentle voice of prayer,
In the wild sounds that fill the air,
Yet, Lord, we know that voice is heard,
Not less than if Thy throne it stirred.

Thine ear, Thou tender One, is caught,
If we but bend the knee in thought;
No choral song that shakes the sky
Floats farther than the Christian’s sigh.

Not all the darkness of the land
Can hide the lifted eye and hand;
Nor need the clanging conflict cease,
To make Thee hear our cries for peace.

O God, who didst Thy will unfold
In wondrous modes to saints of old,
By dream, by oracle, or seer,
Wilt Thou not still Thy people hear?

What though no answering voice is heard!
Thine oracles, the written Word,
Counsel and guidance still impart,
Responsive to the upright heart.

What though no more by dreams is shown
That future things to God are known;
Enough the promises reveal:
Wisdom and love the rest conceal.

Faith asks no signal from the skies,
To show that prayers accepted rise;
Our Priest is in the holy place,
And answers from the throne of grace.

No need of prophets to inquire:
The sun is risen; the stars retire;
The Comforter is come, and sheds
His holy unction on our heads.

Lord, with this grace our hearts inspire;
Answer our sacrifice by fire;
And by Thy mighty acts declare
Thou art the God Who heareth prayer.

O thou who hearest every heartfelt prayer,
With Thy rich grace, Lord, all our hearts prepare.
Thou art our life, Thou art our love and light,
O let this Sabbath hour with Thee be bright.