Poem September 26, 1942 Issue

The Hour of Prayer

Kate E. Andreae

Each morn I come to the eternal source
And meditate on blessings gathered here;
Then, as I worshop God, a mighty force
Dispels within me every lurking fear.
For wine of inspiration, which I seek,
Immeasurably satisfies, uplifts;
It is as though I hear the Father speak
Great words of import. Mists disperse, and rifts
Disclose the secret which the darkness hid.
I see the Christ, Redeemer, Lord, most blest!
Black night, of which my thought I strove to rid,
Yields now to light divine; and love and rest
Come through wide-open doors to save and heal.
And now in gratitude to God I kneel.