Poem September 26, 1942 ISSUE

The Hour of Prayer

Kate E. Andreae

Each morn I come to the eternal sourceAnd meditate on blessings gathered here;Then, as I worshop God, a mighty forceDispels within me every lurking fear.For wine of inspiration, which I seek,Immeasurably satisfies, uplifts;It is as though I hear the Father speakGreat words of import. Mists disperse, and riftsDisclose 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 restCome through wide-open doors to save and heal.And now in gratitude to God I kneel.

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