My God! is any hour so sweet,

From blush of morn to evening star,

As that which calls me to thy feet—

The hour of prayer?

2 Blest is the tranquil hour of morn,

And blest that hour of solemn eve,

When, on the wings of prayer up-borne,

The world I leave.

3 Then is my strength by thee renewed;

Then are my sins by thee forgiven;

Then dost thou cheer my solitude

With hopes of heaven.

4 No words can tell what sweet relief

There for my every want I find;

What strength for warfare, balm for grief,

What peace of mind!

5 Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;

My spirit seems in heaven to stay;

And e’en the penitential tear

Is wiped away.

6 Lord! till I reach that blissful shore,

No privilege so dear shall be

As thus my inmost soul to pour

In prayer to thee.