Explore "A Mortul Prayer" by James Whitcomb Riley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh! Thou that vaileth from all eyes / The glory of Thy face, / And setteth throned behind the skies / In Thy abiding-place: / Though I but dimly recko'nize / Thy purposes of grace; / And though with weak and wavering / Deserts, and vexd with fears, / I lift the hands I can not wring / All dry of sorrow's tears, / Make puore my prayers that daily wing / Theyr way unto Thy ears!
Oh! with the hand that tames the flood / And smooths the storm to rest, / Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood / That stormeth in my brest, / And so refresh my hart to bud / And bloom the loveliest. / Lull all the clammer of my soul / To silunce; bring release / Unto the brane still in controle / Of doubts; bid sin to cease, / And let the waves of pashun roll / And kiss the shores of peace.