THE very air is full of adoration,
God’s glory nature sings,
And bird and flower and all the wide creation
Some lowly tribute brings;
But never yet, from beast or bird
Or flower, the voice of prayer was heard.
Bright angels and archangel, in their places
Before the sapphire throne,
In perfect worship bow with veiled facts;
His majesty they own.
Most eloquent in praises they!
But stainless angels do not pray.
Where saints redeemed, arrayed in robes of whiteness.
Uplift their anthems high.
One theme is heard throughout that Home of brightness,
“Worthy the Lamb!” their cry.
But sin and care have passed away
For them; no longer do they pray.
‘Tis man alone, man, laden with transgression,
This priestly censer bears,
The sweet prerogative of intercession
With Christ Himself he shares.
Forgiven, though he went astray,
Redeemed man is taught to pray.
The hoary age its weary way is taking,
And hearts are sad and sore:
Arise, oh saints, your supplications making
At Heaven’s wide open door!
The twilight falleth soft and gray,
The world is needy; let us pray!
A few brief years, a few more waves of sorrow,
A few petitions more,
And then for us shall dawn that blessed morrow
Upon the peaceful shore.
Come, let us plead with God today,
In heaven we shall not need to pray.
Lucy A. Bennett (by permission).