In that unclouded scene of love and glory,
The sigh of anguish, the unuttered groan
Ascend, the words of life’s mysterious story,
Before the Father’s throne.
Our great High Priest cloth stand before the altar,
And in His hand a golden censer bears,
Much frankincense, although petitions falter,
He addeth to our prayers.
O Holy Paraclete, with efficacy,
Dost Thou, the Righteous, plead before the throne,
Though supplications come to Thee most feebly,
Present them with Thine own.
A. T. C.